


Day and Night

by Saetha



Series: Ladyhawke AU [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (for some of Thorin's company), Alternate Universe, Blood, Curses, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Genderbending, Human!Smaug, Hurt/Comfort, In-universe racism, Ladyhawke - Freeform, M/M, Transformation, Violence, fairytale, mentions of past character death, shape shifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 80,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have been roaming the forests for decades, unable to escape the curse that has been laid upon them. Wolf and raven, two dwarves, condemned to change their form with every coming of night and day, never able to be together as they once were. But those legends are older than a lifetime and no human can remember the day that Smaug took the mountain and by now they are just that - legends. Tales to tell your children before they go to sleep. Bilbo Baggins has never believed them to be the truth either - until he one day discovers that there might indeed be more to them than just mere words. </p><p>[Inspired by an anon on Tumblr and the movie Ladyhawke. Knowledge of the movie not necessary!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I promised you a bit of a bigger fic before I disappear for a few weeks and I hope this will fulfil your expectations. It's a birthday fic for [the most wonderful of all Betas and friends](http://theheirsofdurin.tumblr.com), inspired by [a great anon on Tumblr ](http://tmblr.co/ZL_Z-v1asr8QF) that found the way to her blog a while ago. 
> 
> So I took the movie and got some inspiration from it, although the resulting story is a mixture of pretty much the Ladyhawke storyline and the book storyline and I changed quite a lot of things from both (e.g. the way the curse is lifted bc frankly, the way it happens in the movie is just...kinda boring in my opinion). The geography is also slightly different than from middle-earth so please don't be confused (I didn't have the time to draw a separate map, sorry...).
> 
> Fíli and Kíli are also much younger here than they are in the book because the timeline is slightly different. Ori is older than them and the entire Company is from the Longbeards. Also: more Dís. Because you ALWAYS need more Dís. And I genderbent a few members of the Company and yes, Bombur is trans although it isn't explicitly mentioned bc it isn't an issue amongst the dwarves (I lean towards the concept that kahazadqueen and others have used in their fics, that gender isn't necessarily assigned due to physical characteristics amongst dwarves). 
> 
> Also, just a slight warning for some relatively mild body horror and shades of in-universe racism. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy reading! I'll post the entire thing (which I lovingly called 'little monster' whilst writing it) throughout the day today so you won't have to wait for any new chapters ;).

The first time Bilbo sees them they are barely more than a shadow.

He is still a tween and out too late after a rather long and loud night with his friends, consciously delaying the walk back home even more because he knows that his mother is going to be angry. Bilbo has been out in the woods alone on his own before - but never so late at night, when every sound seems somehow changed by the darkness and completely alien. His hand holding the lantern is trembling slightly as he strains his eyes and ears for anything unusual happening around him.

There is a huff to his right, accompanied by the crackling of small branches and he whirls around, the light in his hands briefly reflected in two grey eyes and a flash of gold before a large form jumps out of the understorey at him. No, not _at_ him, but _past_ him. Bilbo stumbles back with a frightened shout nonetheless and his lantern flies out of his hands and to the forest floor where it shatters, causing the light inside to go out. The wolf – and Bilbo is sure that it has been a wolf even though they haven’t been seen in this part of the world for decades – has already run past him when he looks up again. He thinks he hears a quiet voice, a whispered name and for a moment he can see a dark shape on the path in front of him. He is taller than a Hobbit but not as tall as a man, faintly illuminated by moonlight that glints off dark hair, a coat with a lining of silver fur on his shoulders. The wolf is standing next to him, the stranger’s hand on his head and the glint of gold in his ear.

Bilbo blinks and the two are gone. He hurries home as fast as his feet can carry him, his mother’s scolding suddenly preferable to whatever is out there in the woods, waiting for him. When he comes back to the same place again the next morning there is no trace of the two and as the years go by he convinces himself that he must have imagined it all, a dream procured by too much ale and pipeweed.

*

“Have you heard? Word is that someone has escaped from Erebor!”

Dwalin’s hands still momentarily before he pulls himself together and takes another bite from the piece of meat between his fingers. Truly this has to be just another ruse. Nobody has ever escaped from Erebor. Nobody.

The people around him express the same disbelief.

“No, no, it’s true, I tell you! They’re turning every stone between here and Mirkwood to find the one who's gone. There’s so many guards around you can hardly take a piss without one of them watching you!”

Dwalin frowns; it’s true, he has noticed more guards as well and resolved to go back to the Blue Mountains lest he might draw unwanted attention. He nods at the innkeeper and leaves a few coins on the table, drawing his hood deeper across his face before he steps out into the rain.

Once outside the little village he looks up into the trees.

“Thorin.” he calls softly. There’s an answering call from up in the branches and a large raven sweeps down to land on his arm and hop on to his shoulder from there. If there truly is a thief who has gotten out of Erebor alive they need to find them.

*

The second time Bilbo catches a glimpse of the cursed duo he doesn't recognise them.

He has different thoughts on his mind that moment than a distant memory of a wolf and a man in a lonely, moonlit night, for he has just escaped what is known as the impenetrable fortress that no one who enters it in bonds will ever leave alive. His fingers are cold and trembling from clawing their way through mud and the icy water of the sewers for too long and he can barely breathe from the cold when he finally clambers out of the channels. It is the beginning of winter and out here the cold is even worse than in the cells.

Bilbo had sworn to himself never to steal anything again should he escape unscathed, but of course, a growling stomach and empty purse soon override any good intentions he might have had. Bilbo Baggins is, after all, a thief. Oh, not one of those who take the big things like large items or expensive jewellery – no, he likes to refer to himself as a pickpocket, taking some coin here, a little trinket there or some food to get him through the day. Of course, being a hobbit often rather helps matters – quiet feet, small size and quick fingers are the keys to his ‘trade’ after all. Most men and orcs always regards him with something akin to amusement and when those who never took him seriously come to recognise their mistake it’s usually much too late.

It was only his luck that had gone amiss at some point and left him locked up in the dungeons of Erebor. Bilbo shudders quietly when he remembers the cold cells and the misery of all its inhabitants. Every day they had taken some and hanged them, even those whose punishment in the old days under the Durin’s rule would have been much lighter. But Smaug wants fear being sown amongst the people, not justice served and so Erebor’s current ruler will mercilessly weed out anyone who dares to oppose him or his laws. Bilbo knows he has to get as far away as possible, and as fast as possible at that.

As he is stumbling through the unfamiliar forest to the east of the Lonely Mountain, there is a croak over him and he sees what looks like a huge black raven with a few gray feathers on his neck sitting on a branch and staring down at him. It has the bluest eyes Bilbo has ever seen and there is something about them that makes him feel like he’s being watched. He decides to ignore the bird and just go on, even though he can still feel the gaze from those strange eyes drilling into his back. When he finally turns around to look again the raven is long gone and only then he realises that this is the first time he has seen a raven so close to the mountain.

*

The third time he sees them sets events in motion that Bilbo hadn’t even dreamed of ever experiencing.

He doesn’t truly feel far enough away from Erebor yet to be safe (maybe he will never feel safe again, dreaming forever about guards sneaking up on him and cold mud caked under his fingernails), but he is hungry and the coin he has stolen should be enough to buy him a decent meal at one of the street vendors’ stalls.

The vendor eyes his bedraggled clothes and unwashed face warily.

“Payment upfront.” he grunts and holds out his hand. Bilbo just answers with a theatrical sigh and an exaggerated jingle of his pouch full with coins to show the man that he has more than enough money to pay for a simple bowl of stew and some bread. The vendor just raises his eyebrows and repeats his gesture, pushing his hand in Bilbo’s direction.

Bilbo rolls his eyes and counts out the coins into the man’s hand. He’s just about to put his pouch back into his shirt (an experienced thief never puts it on his belt; he knows just how easily it can be cut off and stolen that way) when someone grips his wrist.

“That’s a nice full purse you have there.” Bilbo looks up into the man’s face and his heart stops and drops somewhere into the region of his stomach. The guard grins at him, increasing the pressure on his arm so that he is forced to let go of his pouch before his bones get crushed.

“And how does a ragged creature like you come by so much money?”

At least there are no orcs together with this bunch. The orcs have come to the mountain together with Smaug and since mingled with the men in his service, often enough accompanying them on their missions now instead of only guarding their master. There are many amongst them who are a decent enough sort and Bilbo guesses they have been forced into service just as much as the men now under Smaug's command, but there are also some amongst them that let shivers run over his back.

The guard opens the pouch to see how much money is in it and his grin widens, almost turning into a leer.

“Ooooh, lads, come over, looks like I caught myself a thief here!”

Bilbo decides that either, he has to run now or try and somehow talk his way out of the situation. The other guards are too close to try running, however, and his quick tongue has helped him out more than once before. He takes a deep breath and draws himself up to his full height (which isn’t really much compared to the men around him, but anyway).

“This is _my_ money, thank you very much.” he says as indignantly as possible and extends his hand as if he expects the guard to hand his pouch back to him. For a second, the man looks utterly started and Bilbo decides to forge on. “I’ve won it in an honest gamble earlier today,” (of course there is no such thing as honest gambling under Smaug but Bilbo hopes that the guards in front of him belong to the vast majority of those who invest in such games anyway) ”and I would very much welcome it if you could give it back.”

His plan might even have worked had one of the guards not decided to put a hand on his shoulder and turn him around violently.

“I knew it!” the guard who has grabbed him from behind exclaims. “He’s the thief! The one who escaped! I knew I recognised him from my rounds in the prison!”

He yanks at Bilbo’s shirt, exposing his bare shoulder and the thief’s mark that’s burnt into it. Bilbo swears quietly. There is no way he will get through with his story now. Of all the men he had to meet it had to be one of the prison guards...there’s only one thing left for him to try. With all the strength he has left he ducks, ignoring the ripping sound his shirt makes, and wrenches his hand out of the momentarily slack grip of the other guard.

Bilbo uses the moment of surprise his sudden escape attempt creates and weasels his way through between the guards’ legs. There’s a surprised shout behind him just as he starts running and soon they are following him. With their longer legs they will have caught up with him in a minute – Bilbo desperately looks for something to climb on, but only sees a dangerously flimsy-looking wooden rack usually used to dry fish from the nearby lake. Now, with winter and snow around the door, it’s empty and Bilbo runs towards it and climbs up as fast as he can.

Only moments later the first guards slam against the wood, causing the entire structure to wobble dangerously.

“Take it down, take it down!” One of them shouts, furiously starting to hack at the beams supporting the rack.

Bilbo curses colourfully and wonders for a moment what his parents would say if they could see him now. Then he shakes his head – musing about them would not help him. They have both been dead for decades, even though the lingering pain in his chest from it will never quite pass. The rack wobbles as the first two beams fall and Bilbo curses again. A fine thief he is making, not even able to escape a handful of guards anymore.

He jumps from beam to beam, always evading the falling parts of the structure at the last second. But in the end there is nowhere else to go and with a murmured prayer he jumps off the last piece of wood, rolling off on the floor and darting away as soon as he has firm ground under his feet again. His freedom doesn’t last much longer though – one of the guards is faster than the others and grips his upper arm firmly not long after he has started running.

Bilbo bites and scratches, fighting against the hold of his captors, but it’s no use. Two of them restrain him, bending his arms so violently that he thinks his shoulders will pop out of their sockets if they increase the pressure just a little bit more.

“Kill him.” one of the guards orders. “I won’t take the risk of the little weasel trying to run again.”

The man next to him lifts his sword and Bilbo makes a desperate little sound in his throat, closing his eyes in what he is sure will be his last moments. Instead of cold metal on his throat, however, there is a _thwack_ and a loud cry, followed by a sword clattering to the ground.

Bilbo carefully opens his eyes just as the two men holding him also cry out as a second and third throwing axes find their targets, the pressure on his arms easing immediately. There is a swirl of black feathers in the air and men fighting against someone to his right, but he wastes no time looking at it. A lot of time spent running from guards has taught him never to question his luck, but sometimes simply grab it and not let go. So instead of looking who or what has caused his sudden freedom he just darts forward and runs.

*

Dwalin curses loudly when he sees the thief run away, but his attention is soon diverted by the guards attacking him again. His little throwing axes have incapacitated them only momentarily, making it possible for the little thief to get away but not doing any significant damage. With a shout he knocks another one of them to the ground and blocks the strike of a third, just barely keeping him from taking his own head off. There is a croak behind him and the fleeting sensation of wings almost brushing his skin. He disarms his current opponent and turns around, watching just as Thorin’s talons sink deeply into one of the guard’s faces.

“It’s _them_!”

Dwalin swears again and hopes that Thorin is wise enough to be careful. It wouldn’t be the first time that he is hurt in a fight, but Dwalin has no desire to see it happen again, _especially_ not when he’s a raven. They should never have come so close to Erebor’s vicinity, even to find the damned thief. He roars and with a mighty swing of Keeper incapacitates another two guardsmen who were foolish enough to try and sneak up on him from behind.

There’s a warning shriek from Thorin behind him and Dwalin strikes out blindly, catching one of the guards in the stomach. He pulls Grasper out again and steps aside, letting the wounded man fall into his comrade’s swords and giving himself a precious moment of time. The last of his foes goes down when Thorin distracts him by attacking furiously from behind so that it’s an easy thing for Dwalin to come and knock him out.

Thorin makes a little satisfied sound and lands on one of the fallen wooden beams, starting to preen his feathers that have become ruffled during the little skirmish. Dwalin shakes his head and starts collecting the small throwing axes from the beginning of the fight. Two of those he has fought are still alive and he hesitates, wondering whether he should kill them. With a sigh he decides against it – maybe he has become softer with age, but there has been enough blood spilled in both their names and even if they survive long enough to tell the tale, there are enough villagers who have seen him and Thorin and could give them away.

“Thorin!” he calls out to the raven who looks up immediately at the sound of his voice, his blue eyes drilling into Dwalin’s. “Go and see if you can find out where the thief went. We need him and it’s going to get dark in a few hours.”

The raven nods and with a sudden movement of his wings he climbs up into the air, flying in the direction that the thief ran off to.

*

It is only sheer will that keeps Bilbo going after a while. The time in prison hasn’t exactly improved his stamina and it feels like everything in his body is burning, his feet, his legs, his chest, his head. The close encounter with death has shaken him more than he has realised and he keeps turning, paranoid of soldiers following him. When he finally stops he is shaking and has to lean against a tree to calm his ragged breathing. Thankfully he still has his second purse sown into the inside of his shirt, but out here in the wilderness money will be of little us of him. His growling stomach reminds him that he still hasn’t eaten anything today, but going back is out of the question and he doesn’t feel like he could face any other village right now.

He gives himself another few moments to collect his wits before he forces himself upright once again. _“Help yourself if nobody wants to help you.”_ his mother has always told him and so far he has stayed true to her words. After all, hasn’t he even managed to escape from Erebor?

Bilbo’s first priority is to make a fire. The cold of the beginning winter is starting to gnaw at his bones despite the new clothes he has stolen the day he escaped. And there are only a few hours left until sunset – better find a good place to spend the night now, sooner rather than later. The next hour he fully concentrates on finding shelter and dry wood. Once he has done so he tries to get a fire going with what little knowledge he still has of surviving in the wild. Focusing on his tasks helps his mind to push back the fear floating through it and when he finally sits down and starts warming his hands over the flames he has almost calmed down, leaning back against the wall of the little cave he has found with a sigh.

There is the sound of flapping wings above him and he looks up just in time to see the outline of a huge raven against the sky. Bilbo frowns; he vaguely remembers the bird he has seen shortly after escaping from Erebor and the black feathers during the fight with the guards. Surely it cannot be the same one? But something tells him it was and he feels uneasiness settle in his gut like a heavy stone even when he is trying to reassure himself that the bird is probably as harmless as it’s curious.

He curses his gullibility only moments later when there is the cracking of heavy boots on the forest floor. His snug little hideout now becomes a problem - there is only one exit and whoever is coming will be here shortly and block it. Bilbo scrambles as far back as he can to bring the fire between himself and the intruder and ignites a branch of wood on the flames to defend himself with.

A burly shape comes into view and Bilbo startles a little when he sees that it isn't one of the guards, nor, indeed one of the menfolk in general. It is a dwarf, unusually tall still, but definitely a dwarf with wide shoulders, a set of axes on his back, a beard and a short mohawk. There are tattoos on his hands and to each side of the tufts of hair on his otherwise bare head. He looks menacing and grim and Bilbo grips his branch a little more tightly.

There's a croaking in the air and then the flapping of wings again and the raven, the same raven he has seen before, settles on a branch near the entrance to his little alcove in the rocks. It looks first at the intruder, then at him and the gaze of his blue eyes is so intense that Bilbo almost forgets about the danger around him.

Bilbo's attention snaps back to the stranger when he comes closer to him yet again, but then the dwarf lifts both of his hands to show he is holding no weapon.

"Relax, thief, I'm not with the guards." he grumbles.

At the mention of the word 'thief' Bilbo's heart clenches and he musters the dwarf in front of him suspiciously.

"What do you want?" he asks, lifting his little branch a bit higher. His make-shift weapon looks a lot less intimidating when faced with the stranger's axes, but it's still better than nothing.

"I'm here to ask you for your services." The raven makes a strange little sound at the dwarf's choice of words. It almost sounds like laughter. The stranger shoots him a dark scowl which seems to leave the bird entirely unfazed.

"What services?" Bilbo is slightly confused. He has expected a lot of answers ranging from "I'm here to kill you." to "I want you to give back those shoes you stole a few days back at the apple orchard." but not this.

The dwarf exchanges another gaze with the raven who, if Bilbo sees correctly, seems to give a small nod. The gesture looks so un-birdlike that Bilbo is sure he must have imagined it. Birds don't nod, and neither do they _laugh_.

"I need you to guide us back into Erebor."

"Oh no. No no no no no no." Bilbo shakes his head. There is no way that he will _ever_ go back. "You won't get me back in there. Not for any money in the world."

"But you are the only one who has ever made it out alive. We need you." Does Bilbo's mind play tricks on him or is there a slightly desperate tinge to the dwarrow's voice?

"No." he says again, making his voice as firm as possible. Rage briefly lights the dwarf's features and Bilbo tries to take another step back, even though his back is already touching rock.

The raven suddenly shuffles his feathers and makes another sound. With a few beats of his wings he sails through the air and lands on the dwarf's shoulder, whacking his face with his wings in the process. From there the bird hops onto the stranger's pack that he's carrying on his back and starts picking at one of the many pockets in it.

"What-" The dwarf grunts, seemingly annoyed, but doesn't seem to mind the presence of the bird. Then understanding lights his features and he turns back to Bilbo.

"Let's let the matter rest for now." he suggests. "You look like you haven't eaten all day and I have more than enough. Care to share?" The words sound slightly forced, as if he would rather just drag Bilbo away by force, but they still give him a slight pause. Bilbo's stomach answers for him with an almost embarrassingly loud growl that makes the corners of the dwarf's lips twitch.

"Alright." Bilbo says hesitantly and gestures at the fire for the stranger to sit down. Belatedly he remembers his manners and gives a slight bob of his head. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service." ' _Never forget your manners even in the most dire of situations._ ' his mother's voice echoes through his head again.

"Dwalin, son of Fundin, at yours." The dwarf's nod is so miniscule that Bilbo almost misses it. With a sigh Dwalin sits down on the ground next to the fire, opposite Bilbo. He starts rummaging in his pack and, after a moment, pulls out several large stripes of dried meat, wrapped neatly in some oilpaper. He rips one in half, puts one part in his mouth and hands the other to the raven which is sitting back on his shoulder again. The bird takes the piece and flies to a small rock close by, holding down the piece of meat with one clawed foot and immediately starting to rip small enough bits out of it to eat.

Bilbo watches with such fascination that he almost misses Dwalin handing him a few pieces as well, accepting them belatedly with nodded thanks.

"That's a very well-trained pet you have there." he remarks with a gaze at the raven. The bird looks up at him and croaks indignantly, fluffing up his feathers seemingly in protest of his words. Dwalin grins.

"He isn't quite my pet and not half as well-trained as you seem to think. But we have been travelling together for a long time, right, Durin?" The raven gives another croak and diverts his attention back to his almost finished piece of meat again. Dwalin throws him another one and then continues to eat, gathering more provisions from his pack to share with Bilbo.

Now that he has the chance to examine him more thoroughly, Bilbo notices several strange features about the dwarf. There is a golden earring in one of his ears and his fingernails seem to be a thought sharper than normal ones. His canine teeth look long, almost like fangs. There is a wildness about him as he tears into the food in front of him and Bilbo shudders, suddenly grateful that the dwarf doesn't seem to be intent on killing him at the moment.

The silence between them stretches until Dwalin suddenly moves, eyeing the sky that tells them it will get dark soon.

"You are welcome to sleep under my protection tonight, Master Baggins." he says. "Although I'm afraid I must leave you for a while to see to something in the woods. And do not wake me, for I do not like to have my sleep disturbed at night."

Bilbo signals his agreement - he is too tired and his stomach too full to be able to truly resist Dwalin's proposition. Dwalin even throws him a blanket before he leaves and Bilbo takes it with a murmured thanks. He looks after him as the dwarf disappears into the woods, taking nothing with him but an axe and a small bag - and the raven on his shoulder. Maybe he is leaving to gather some more firewood, Bilbo thinks drowsily, unable to stifle a yawn as the events of the past days are taking their toll on him.

He spends a good while staring into the fire whilst the sun is setting and darkness descends, lost in his own thoughts about what he is to do in the future. At one point he thinks he can hear distant cries but the sound is gone as quickly as he has heard it and maybe he has just imagined it, so he returns to his own musings again. He has no true home to go to, nobody waiting for him in any of the cities he has visited so far. Despite not ever feeling the need for physical intimacy he has also taken care not to stay in one place for too long since he became a thief, for fear of being discovered and remembered. Now this choice is coming back to haunt him, taunting his mind with an uncertain future. If he could but find sanctuary somewhere, a place to stay at during the winter...he thinks of Dwalin's question again and a plan starts forming in his head.

Amongst his dim thoughts he falls into a restless sleep plagued by dark dreams and nightmares. He wakes up once or twice, only to see that Dwalin must have returned - there is a burly shape opposite him across the fire, back to him and blanket drawn over his head, but Bilbo is sure it must be Dwalin since his axes and a sword he hasn't noticed before are lying in close proximity, easy enough to reach should someone come and try to disturb his sleep. In his sleep-addled state it doesn't even strike him as odd that they haven't set a watch throughout the night.

*

Dwalin walks away from the campfire just in time; he can feel his body stirring already, the change imminent. He has to bring some distance between himself and the hobbit and the same is true for Thorin too. The raven on his shoulder shifts restlessly and without thinking, Dwalin reaches up to stroke his feathers. He knows that Thorin hates the change even more than he does, the strain on his body much larger with the bigger size difference.

He always refers to Thorin as 'Durin' in company other than their kin; they have learned long ago that their true names are still known in some parts of the country and that Smaug has never truly stopped hunting them once they come too close to Erebor. With a small sigh he settles down in a little clearing, hoping that the bushes around them will be enough to stifle the sounds and hide the sights from everyone.

Dwalin takes off his own clothes as quickly as he can, a prickling in his fingertips and the deep red of the horizon telling him that the transformation is about to begin. Thorin has hopped from his shoulders onto the ground into the opposite corner of the clearing, his blue eyes blank as he withdraws deeply into himself. Dwalin takes out his partner's clothes from the bag he has brought, taking a moment to bring them up to his nose, his already heightened senses flooded by Thorin's smell that is still on them from the previous night. He takes comfort from the smell even as the magic is racing through his body and slowly ripping it apart.

It takes all his strength trying not to scream - sometimes he succeeds, sometimes he fails, gives in when the pressure of bones breaking and re-knitting, muscles ordering themselves in different structures and skin stretching and contracting gets too strong. It is too much for Thorin this night and he can hear his partner scream as feathers disappear and get replaced by flesh and his body stretches and remembers what it means to be a dwarf. Something inside him breaks as it does every time when he hears Thorin cry out, wanting nothing more than to run over to him even though he is unable to do so, his own body lying helplessly on the ground in twitching agony.

The change never takes long, even though it always feels like an eternity. When his senses finally return to him Thorin is already on his feet, panting heavily and ignoring the shaking and occasional spasms that are running through him as he finds and puts on the clothes that Dwalin has left on the ground before. Dwalin takes a moment longer to recover, then he slowly rolls on his feet and pats over to him, a soft tone in his throat as he licks over Thorin's hand.

Thorin's features soften immediately as he smiles down at him, lifting an arm and stroking his fur behind his ears. His smile deepens when his fingers encounter the little ring of gold in his ear.

"So, Bilbo Baggins, hu?" he wonders. "I never thought a hobbit- ah, but it doesn't matter now. We should take him back to the village, Dwalin, maybe Dís and the little ones can persuade him where we cannot. And if we last out the winter there the palace might have forgotten about him next year."

Dwalin huffs in agreement and yelps when Thorin playfully pinches him in the side.

"And what was that comment about well-trained, hm?" he asks him. "As if I couldn't just fly away if I wanted. It also took you awfully long to get to the thought of giving that famished creature something to eat."

Dwalin growls slightly. Thorin had never been talkative in the times before the curse had happened to them; now he seems barely able to shut up in the minutes after he has turned back into a dwarf, as if he wants to make up for the entire lost day where he was unable to talk. Sometimes they have odd conversations like this, replying to each other's words at dusk and dawn, one argument drawn out over the course of days or even weeks. Dwalin playfully snaps at Thorin's arm, pressure just strong enough that his teeth don't break the skin.

Thorin gives him another gentle shove and stuffs the last of Dwalin's clothes into the bag before picking up the axe from the ground.

"Go." he tells Dwalin. "I see how keen you are to roam the forest. I will look for more firewood and return to the camp as soon as the hobbit is asleep. You know when to wake me up."

Dwalin nods. He knows they are taking a risk with this, of having Thorin so close to Bilbo when he isn't a raven, but leaving the hobbit alone in the forest throughout the night would not have been an option. They just have to hope that Bilbo has a firm sleep and won't notice Thorin getting up in the night before dawn. Now, however, his blood is calling for freedom and the promise of a good kill and he sets off into the night, feet padding lightly over the ground and leaving Thorin behind.

*

Bilbo wakes up from the smell of bacon sizzling over the fire. He blinks drowsily and it takes him a moment to remember where he is; then it comes back to him and he jumps upright with a start. He vaguely remembers waking up shortly before dawn, seeing that the dwarf opposite him had already gotten up and thinking that they must leave; but Dwalin had told him in a voice that sounded strangely different from his usual one to go back to sleep and so he had, the incidence now no more than a hazy memory in his mind.

The dwarf is sitting across from him and keeping an eye on their breakfast (some kind of porridge as it seems to Bilbo), whilst expertly gutting and cleaning two rabbits on the ground next to him. The raven is there too, looking down at Bilbo from a branch in the trees and catching the odd scraps of animal Dwalin throws him.

"Finally awake?" the dwarf asks Bilbo gruffly as he sees him stirring.

"Yes." Bilbo yawns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He feels hungry and thoroughly dishevelled and it suddenly springs to his mind that he hasn't even washed in days. Dwalin seems to notice his gaze at his dirty clothes and points to his right.

"There's a little river down there in case you want to wash. Hurry up though; breakfast should be ready soon."

Bilbo gives a thankful nod and scampers off to the little river. The cold water helps to bring his thoughts back on track and wake him up fully. When he returns to the fire Dwalin wordlessly shoves a bowl of porridge at him, then frowns when he sees the large rip in his clothes where the guards have gripped Bilbo the day before.

"You want me to mend that for you?" he says gruffly and points at the torn fabric. Bilbo startles; he'd almost forgotten about it.

"I can do it myself if you have needle and thread to spare." he says, surprised that someone like Dwalin would have sewing skills. But then, he supposes, the dwarf looks like he's travelling a lot and such a skill would likely come in more than handy in this case. Dwalin nods and starts rummaging in his pack again, throwing him a little pouch that contains sewing implements after a moment.

Then he pulls out several of his axes and begins to clean and sharpen the weapons. Bilbo's watches him as he is finishing up his breakfast and when his eyes land on several small throwing axes his mind finally connects the dots.

"You're the warrior from yesterday." he blurts out. Dwalin looks up, one brow raised.

"I saved your life, yes." Then he turns his attention back to the whetstone and the cold metal in his hands.

"Uhm, thanks, I guess?" Bilbo suddenly feels slightly flustered, not at all sure of how to continue the conversation. He wants to know how Dwalin knew the thief who had escaped from Erebor was him, but at the same time he is aware that the deed somehow places him in his debt and he is terrified of being forced to return to the prison.

"Hm." Dwalin keeps his eyes on his task whilst Bilbo cleans out their pot and dishes with some water he has brought up from the river earlier with him.

Bilbo fidgets around for a moment, trying to find the right words for what he wants to say next.

"Yesterday, you asked me to help you. I will do so under one condition." Dwalin looks up sharply at this and Bilbo suddenly finds himself faced with two pairs of eyes staring at him, one grey and one blue. He takes a deep breath, feeling that his next words are going to decide his fate. "Hide me and help me to survive the winter. I know your people are secretive; that Smaug's soldiers will never find me with them. Then, in the spring, I will show you the way into Erebor."

Dwalin frowns and Bilbo knows that his words were bold, maybe too bold. This, however, might be his only hope to get through the winter unscathed. The warrior looks over to the raven and Thorin croaks, flying over and hopping onto Dwalin's shoulders. Bilbo holds his breath.

"Yes." Dwalin says finally and Bilbo exhales with great relief.

"I can make myself useful, of course." he hurries to add now. "I do not plan on eating up your food stores and taking up space by just being idle."

The dwarf in front of him nods, suddenly seemingly at lot more at ease with Bilbo's suggestion. And with that, the matter is done - Bilbo finishes the mending of his shirt and carefully places the needle and roll of thread in the pouch again before handing it back to Dwalin, who has started to tidy up their little camp and stow everything away in two bags, a large one for himself and a smaller one for Bilbo to carry.

Bilbo still has no belongings apart from what he has stolen on the road and as such just watches, helping with whatever Dwalin tells him to do which, he figures, is better than constantly getting into his way. They are off remarkably quickly and Bilbo takes a deep breath when he turns around and looks back at the little cave in the rocks one last time. He can only hope that this supposed new life of his will be better than the old one.

*

The travel to the Blue Mountains takes them the better of three weeks. Dwalin and Thorin are a well-versed team, having had over a century's practise of keeping their secret safe and Bilbo doesn't seem to discover it, even though over time he becomes quite friendly with Thorin, letting the raven sit on his arm and feeding him scraps from his own meals. He even talks to Thorin when he thinks that Dwalin can't hear him, muttering here and there about 'grumpy dwarves' and 'no regards for a hobbit's short legs' which earns him quiet chuckling-like sounds from the bird.

The nights are harder, especially when the full moon draws near and Dwalin gets twitchy and more easily annoyed, barely trusting himself with being in their immediate vicinity and keeping them safe at night. Thorin would take the watch and sleep throughout the day on Dwalin's shoulders, but they cannot take the risk of Bilbo waking up and seeing Thorin sit at their fire. Dwalin has never been a dwarf of many words, but since the curse struck he is even less so. Many of the days pass in silence, with Dwalin drudging ahead through the falling snow and Bilbo trailing behind, trying not to lose contact. At night, Dwalin goes hunting so they always have enough meat with them and from time to time Thorin catches a few voles for himself throughout the day. However, even though a diet based on meat alone might satisfy the two of them (indeed, eating anything else that won't be digested before they turn into their animal counterparts would only upset their stomachs), it's clear that it doesn't do the same for Bilbo. When the hobbit says so Dwalin grunts with annoyance, but accepts the coin Bilbo gives him to buy some bread, vegetables and eggs by the time they pass the next settlement.

Dwalin is glad when the first houses of the settlement finally come into view. It isn't home per se - his and Thorin's place lies another half day's journey away in a valley in the mountains, impossible to find for anyone who doesn't know the way. Officially, the heir to Erebor is dead and his sister now the leader of their people and it is easier to keep it that way. At least the natural secrecy of dwarves makes it possible for Thorin to still be with his family and kin at night; but as soon as word of this would get outside they would be lost. Dwalin glances back at Bilbo trudging behind him and pushes aside the apprehension that he feels of bringing an outsider into the village. If they succeed there will be no need for secrecy anymore. He has given Thorin a message to bring to Dís the day before so that everybody knows they are coming.

Bilbo has never been this far away from the mountain before - he was born and raised in a village no further than a two day's journey away from Erebor and has spent his entire life in the settlements around it, moving from place to place as often as it was required. The village looks peaceful as it lies in front of him - no more than twenty or so small houses built of wood and stone, each of them with smoke curling up into the air through the chimneys, proof that they are inhabited. Bilbo shivers in anticipation of the warmth that will await him.

The door of the first house opens when they are not far away anymore, two laughing children spilling from inside into the fresh snow on the doorstep.

"Uncle Dwalin!" Both of them shout his name at the same time, seemingly full of joy about his return. Dwalin grins, the expression transforming his usually so grim face within moments and braces himself against the impact of two small bodies slamming against his legs and almost toppling him to the ground. He hoists the smaller one up on his arms and grips the shoulders of the older, then beckons to Bilbo with a move of his head to come over.

The dwarfling on his arm makes huge eyes when he sees Bilbo, a gesture that tells him he has likely never seen hobbits before. Bilbo feels his heart melt instantly - most hobbits have a soft spot for children, even those who never truly desire any of them for their own.

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service." he says, with a little bow and a flourish of the coat he is wearing. The young dwarfling is obviously delighted, giggling in reply and even his older brother who has been watching Bilbo warily is grinning a little at the display. The smile hasn't left Dwalin's face either and just widens when the dwarf next to his leg does his own proper nod and replies "Fíli, at yours."

Fíli nudges his brother and the younger one giggles again before it breaks out of him: "Kíli, at yours!" Bilbo would estimate him no older than maybe five or six years, but he knows that dwarves age differently so the lad might as well be far over ten already.

"They're my distant cousin's sons and apparently I'm their second favourite uncle." he explains to Bilbo, unfazed by little Kíli burying his small hands in the hair of his beard and starting to pull with all the enthusiasm of a small child.

"Is that so?" Bilbo laughs and falls into a step with them when they start moving towards the closest house whose door is still wide open. "And who's your favourite then?"

"Uncle Thorin!" Kíli shouts full of joy. Fíli nods. "But he's never home before nightfall, because he's working so much, _am-_ mother says." He has obviously remembered mid-sentence that he isn't supposed to speak any words in the dwarves' secret language aloud.

He also tries to sound dignified and old as he's speaking and Bilbo can only guess as to the whereabouts of their father, a good enough observer to know not to ask after him. Dwalin smiles and ruffles his hair, a strange look in his eyes that shows a pang of pain.

"Let's go and see what your Ma is doing, hm?" he asks Fíli who nods enthusiastically. Bilbo trails a little behind as both children start babbling at the same time, the sound of Dwalin's voice and gruff laughter breaking the flood of words from time to time. Bilbo looks around and frowns; only now does he notice that the raven is nowhere in sight.

He sees the bird again as soon as he enters the house - Durin is sitting on a post in the corner of the living room, seemingly happy with himself as he's preening his feathers and, at the same time, watching the assembly of people in the room.

Dís, as the boys' mother is named, comes into the house through the back door only moments after them, plucking her boys from Dwalin's figure so that he can take off his boots and travelling clothes. She presses a kiss to his cheek in the process, obviously delighted to see him again.

"Sorry for the lateness, but I was finishing up in the forges when Durin signalled me that you had come." Dwalin smiles at her (Bilbo is surprised by just how _much_ the old warrior seems to have changed since he has seen his kin again) and gives her a quick hug, unheeding of little Kíli's protests who's almost getting squashed between them.

"Where's Balin?" he asks the dwarrowdam. She nods towards another wooden door at the far end of the room.

"In the kitchen, getting lunch ready. We thought you must all be hungry from your travels." Dwalin nods at her and briefly presses their foreheads together before he disappears into the direction of the kitchen. Dís briefly eyes up Bilbo before she extends him the formal welcome into her house which Bilbo is only too glad to return.

"So, this is the hobbit." Her words sound serious, but there's a smile on her face as she looks at him and Bilbo feels instantly welcome.

"I guess so." he replies, still slightly nervous. "Thank you for having me."

"You're welcome." the dwarrowdam replies and urges him to sit down at the large table. "Now, I've heard that you are the one who is rumoured to have escaped Erebor. You will have to tell us all about it; Fíli and Kíli have been clamouring to hear the story all day since we received message from Dwalin that you were coming!"

"Ah, yes of course." As long as they don't ask him again to return to the mountain he has no quarrels talking about his little adventure - especially not to young children who are always the ones most adept at listening.

He soon finds that, indeed, dwarflings are just as hungry for a tale as any other child and enjoys the huge eyes of both Fíli and Kíli as they listen to his story which he of course embellishes, much to Dwalin's amusement. The warrior's and raven's contribution to his rescue are both getting praised in front of the young dwarrows and smile after smile flitters over Dís' face as she's watching her children hang on his lips. Balin, Dwalin's brother who has joined them during lunch, seems amused too and glad that for once, it isn't him who the children are pestering with questions and the demands for more and more tales.

Balin asks him if he could write and read as well as tell tales and when Bilbo nods, he proposes that the hobbit could help him with the dwarflings in the little school that he's running, at least in those lessons that are not about dwarven history or language. Bilbo is delighted, of course, and agrees to come by the next day, glad he will have more to do than just sitting around all winter.

*

Thorin sleeps for most of the afternoon, thankful for his own little place in the corner of the room. From time to time he peeks out beneath the cover of his feathers, watching the people in the living room of his sister's house. There is the hobbit who seems so adept at telling stories, his nephews who hang on every single word that is coming from his lips, Dís and Balin, who cannot hide their gazes flickering to Thorin from time to time. And Dwalin, of course, always Dwalin.

It still aches to look at him, a familiar little hurt somewhere in the centre of his chest that will never disappear. Sometimes he still dreams of being with Dwalin as they have once been, of the taste of his lips and the feeling of his fingers running along his own bare flesh. But it has been a hundred years and the memory is all but a ghost now, haunting him in those nights where the past is too close. He knows that Dwalin feels the same even if they never talk about it; they know each other too well, have been together for too long for the other to be able to have too many secrets. Thorin still wonders how much would have been different had they not decided to return to the mountain together a century ago.

A laugh roars through the room and rips him out of his thoughts. Bilbo has long finished the tale of how he escaped (and Thorin has to admit that swimming through the sewers does indeed not sound like the most pleasant of tasks) and how Dwalin had first rescued and then found him again. Now he is busy recounting a story from earlier days, one that has both Fíli and Kíli squealing in delight and the others grinning. He still doesn't know whether it was the right decision to bring the halfling here; Dwalin has agreed with him but his sister is still of two minds about it as she has told him earlier when they had been alone and he could give nothing as answer but croaks and deathly glares. Yes, they are secretive, yes, they would never invite a stranger to live with them - but Bilbo Baggins is the only hope they might have at a life in Erebor again, a life without the curse. If they could but get inside and kill Smaug...

Another bout of laughter wafts through the room. Thorin looks up again and sees Dwalin throw a glance through the window - and blanching slightly.

"I fear I must leave." he says suddenly when Bilbo stops talking. "It will be getting dark soon and I have my own place to return to."

Fíli and Kíli seem dismayed, protesting that he never stays for dinner. They get even more upset when they realise that he will take Thorin with him too and Kíli stretches out his short arms to pat his favourite raven one more time before they leave. It saddens Thorin that neither of them know that it is their uncle in this form; but Kíli is yet too small to be trusted to be silent and so he doesn't know that the uncle who often stays away for a long time and never comes to visit them before nightfall is the same as the raven he loves with such affection.

Dwalin collects their belongings and holds out his arm to Thorin who sweeps through the room and lands on it gracefully, making his way up to Dwalin's shoulder in moments. Dís and Balin accompany them to the door and outside.

"You'll be coming back for dinner tonight?" Dís asks her brother and softly scratches the feathers under Thorin's chin. He makes a pleased little sound and rubs his head on her hand to signal that yes, he will come. He longs to hold his nephews in his arms once again and actually have words with his kin. His sister smiles and gives both him and Dwalin a kiss on the head, stepping back to let Balin touch foreheads with his brother and bid his friend and king goodbye with a pat on the head.

It is none too early, for the sun is already deep over the horizon and not much time is left if they want to make the change unnoticed and where people cannot hear them. They have a temporary shelter no more than an hour's walk away from the village, a place that they can change and sleep at should they wish to spend the night with their kin instead of at their own place.

The transformation leaves them both breathless once again, Thorin leaning against the wall of the little shed and eyes closed as he's trying to regain his balance. Dwalin shuffles up to him, on legs still shaking from the violence of the change and puts a head on his knee. Thorin scratches his fur, the constant movement helping them both to calm down until Thorin feels he cannot delay for longer. Dwalin gives a soft whine when he stands up and stops petting him, following Thorin to where he puts on his clothes. He leaves Dwalin's axes stowed in the hut but takes his own sword with him instead.

Dwalin walks with him through the quiet and dark forest, grey eyes reflecting the light of the lantern Thorin is carrying and always so close that they are almost touching. When the first lights of the village come into sight Thorin kneels and pulls the wolf closer to himself, sinking into the warmth of Dwalin's fur as he hugs him.

"I'll see you later." he whispers and Dwalin makes a quiet sound as he is leaning against him. It would be too dangerous to bring the wolf into the village and despite never having hurt anyone, Dwalin still doesn't trust himself around small children.

The wolf disappears into the night shortly after and Thorin takes a deep breath before he enters the settlement and knocks at his sister's door again.

"Uncle Thorin!" Fíli and Kíli must have seen him through the windows already for they seem to have waited right behind the door and pull it open the moment his hand has touched the wood. The crash into him with all the force of two young dwarflings and the burden on his heart lightens as soon as he has them both in his arms. They babble on and on and it's hard for him to detach himself far enough so that he can butt heads with his sister and Balin and greet Bilbo, pretending that he's meeting him for the first time. When Dís introduces him there is no recognition in Bilbo's face at the name; it both hurts and is reassuring that the former rules of Erebor have seemingly long since been forgotten. That no one knows their names anymore means more safety for his family and kin, but is also grates at his pride, that the great line of Durin should have fallen so low now. His nephews should have grown up as princes in Erebor, should have had two uncles instead of one who is barely there to see them grow up.

They sit down for dinner and he lets Balin do most of the talking; he has long since learned that he is no good at making up stories of what he has done when in reality his tale would be the same as Dwalin's. He is happy enough with watching his two nephews, his sister and his closest friend as they seem to be relieved to see him in their midst again.

Of course he is the one who has to bathe the dwarflings and bring them to bed - a process in which he gets as wet as them if not wetter and laughs more than he has in weeks. He sings to his nephews softly until they fall asleep and smiles when he looks at their sleeping faces, so relaxed and happy. Then he returns to the living room, just in time to see Bilbo yawn as well and excuse himself to bed too after the long day of travelling he's had. When he is gone and safely out of earshot he sits down with Dís and Balin at the table. As always, he regrets that Dwalin can't be here; his partner would of course be unable to talk but his presence is always a silent reassurance. However, it would be too dangerous, should one of the children wake up and walk into the room just to see a large wolf sitting in it.

"Thank you for taking Bilbo in, sister." Thorin tells Dís quietly. She smiles warmly at him in response.

"You're welcome, brother. I just hope he will prove his words that he will work for his stay. As it is, we have enough coin to get through the winter, but some extra help is always needed and I would not see the children starve again."

"I know, _namad_." Thorin sighs, an old wound of his slowly opening again. "You know I would help you more in the forges if I just could, but-"

"Sssshhh, no, Thorin, it's fine." She gets up and comes around the table, putting her arms around her brother. It is so easy to forget at times that she is suffering too, her partner and one brother dead, the other trapped in a raven's body at daylight and the burden of ruling their people fallen on her shoulders now with only Balin as steady support. Thorin will forever be glad how her children have softened the hard lines on her face. "It's not your fault and you know it. You are doing the best you can and Dwalin is there to help me now."

Thorin closes his eyes, tries force down the bitter taste of guilt in his throat.

"But if I hadn't _run_ after Smaug back then without thinking, if I hadn't taken Dwalin with me, if I'd just been better and killed him, if-"

A pained expression flickers over Dís' face and for a moment she looks like she wants to strike her brother before she takes Thorin's face into her hands and drills the gaze of her brown eyes into his, stopping his rambling.

"Listen to me, Thorin, _listen_. You did what you believed was right and Dwalin followed you because he loved you and because he felt it burning in his own blood, too. The curse was not of your own making and neither were the hard winters that followed. You did your best; you always have. Without you, we might all be dead already."

Thorin replies nothing, not sure what he could say faced with such praise that he clearly doesn't deserve. In the end he just presses his forehead against Dís and murmurs a quiet thank you that elicits a small smile from her.

Balin has come around the table too, putting a hand on Thorin's shoulder.

"You are still our _king_ , Thorin, and nothing will ever change that." Thorin looks at him, smiling gratefully at his friend. Sometime he feels that the burden fate has placed on his shoulders is too heavy, that it is all but impossible for him to go on. It is his family that reminds him, the warm love in his sister's and Balin's eyes, Dwalin's soft hand on his feathers on his own fingers buried in the wolf's fur and always, _always_ the laughter of two young princes greeting him every time he returns.

They stand like this for a few moments more, drawing strength from each other, before they return to the topic at hand.

"Bilbo said he would spend the winter as and, when spring comes, show us the way back into Erebor." Balin frowns at Thorin's words, knowing well the thoughts that are going through his king's mind right now.

"And what would you do then, Thorin? Even if you and Dwalin make your way inside - you are but two, one of them in a beast's body, and Smaug is not alone. Even if you, by some marvel, manage to kill him, his guards would end your lives long before you can draw any profit from his death."

"I know." Thorin says quietly. "But we still have to try and I know Dwalin agrees with me in this, as far as we could talk about it. If Smaug is dead, then Erebor can be retaken, no matter who the ruler is. I would not see our people end their lives here, so far from their homes."

Balin shakes his head at his words whereas Dís just looks weary. They have had this discussion more than once and Thorin knows that his sister, who was so young when their home was seized, would willingly spend the rest of her life here if it means that her family is safe and he cannot fault her for the sentiment. But for the past one hundred years there has been heat burning inside him, sometimes a roaring fire, sometimes glowing embers only, but never gone. It is the urge to return home, to retake what is theirs by right and see it happily in the hands of his people once more. He feels like he owes it to them as king, even if more than half don't even know he is still alive. It is one of the few things propelling him forward and he knows he can never let go of it.

"If you go, I will go with you." Thorin looks up again, surprised. Balin's eyes are soft as he is looking at him. "I could imagine no greater honour than following my king. And who knows, with Bilbo at our side, we might even have a chance."

"I would come with you, too." Dís announces and Thorin knows better than to remind her of her children and that she's needed here, to rule in his absence. His sister's head is harder than anything he knows. In his gratitude he can barely breathe, their loyalty moving his heart.

"And I could never be more blessed than with you at my side." Thorin smiles at both of them. "But spring is still many weeks away and I would rather know what happened here than spend the rest of the night with the planning of deeds that might not even come to pass."

His suggestion is taken up almost immediately, Balin and Dís taking it on them to tell him everything new there is to talk about in their little village. Thorin, in turn, tells them of Dwalin's and his travels and how they found the hobbit and he asked for sanctuary with their people. It is long past nightfall when they finally finish and Thorin feels a measure of peace surge through him. If only Dwalin were here...but he knows his faithful partner will wait for him as soon as he steps outside and so he doesn't find it too hard to bid his sister and friend goodbye for the night, with the promise to visit them again in a few days when he and Dwalin have seen to the state of their own home.

The cool air of the night hits him in the face like an ill-aimed smith's hammer and for a moment he thinks of Dwalin's thick fur with envy. The wolf is waiting for him not far away, just outside the circle of light from the houses. Dwalin leans against him affectionately and Thorin smiles, running his hand through the thick and ruff hair covering his body. He feels tiredness running through him and suddenly he's glad that he doesn't have to cover the entire distance to their own place tonight but can sleep at the small shed instead. Dwalin always at his side he makes his way back to their temporary accommodation, taking the time to kindle a fire in the small fireplace on the floor before taking out his bedroll.

He falls asleep not much later, the reassuring warmth of Dwalin close to his body and his fingers tangled in the wolf's fur.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It's almost frightening how quickly Bilbo gets used to life with the dwarves.

After less than a week he moves in with Balin whose house is next to Dís’ and connected with hers by a side door. He finds he has no true talent for forging so the only tasks he feels comfortable enough doing is to help her clean the forges after a long workday, tend the fire and run the odd errand for her. Most of the time he’s busy with assisting Balin in his school; and if there is ever any spare time left he roams around the village to see who else might need a hand. It isn't overly demanding work but he still feels happy, content that he has something to do, that he is useful. Durin can often be seen flying through the village and soon Bilbo becomes more familiar with him, letting the raven sit on his shoulder and treating his existence with the same implicitness as everyone else. After a while Balin starts letting him borrow some of his books that are written in the common tongue and Bilbo finds the joy of reading resurfacing within him. Memories he thought long forgotten reappear in his mind, of a father teaching him how to read and his mother telling him stories in front of a roaring fire.

It gives him joy to pass on the tradition now with a good book on his knees and Fíli and Kíli in front of him, following his every word and constantly demanding more. Often enough other dwarflings join them and Bilbo loves to see their eyes light up as he tells of past heroes and great deeds.

Over time he also gets to know the other inhabitants of the village. Many of them are close friends or kin of Dís, Balin and Dwalin and those are the ones he soon strikes up a connection. There are Dwalin's and Balin's cousins, Óin and Glóin. Despite her age, Óin is still the main healer amongst them, an elderly dwarrowdam with a sharp tongue and quick fingers who can still sew up a wound as easily as concoct a potion to dull pain and aches. Her brother Glóin is responsible for most trade with those outside the village and as such travels a lot; his wife Ása is a gemstone cutter. Their two children, one of them younger than Fíli and the other a babe born in the previous summer are being doted on by their parents, aunt and grandparents and soon enough Bilbo finds himself utterly enchanted by them, too.

There are also mines in the mountains whose flanks the settlement is built upon and as such more than one miner is amongst the inhabitants of the village. Bofur is one of them and he becomes particularly close to the hobbit, the first one Bilbo truly calls 'friend'. His quick wit and loud laugh are always a delight for Bilbo. He has a harder time, at first, to get to know Bifur, Bofur's brother; since a head injury at the fall of Erebor he has lost his voice and can only speak using the sign language of the dwarves. Even though usually kept secret, Bifur is quick to show Bilbo some of it so that the two of them might talk and Bilbo finds that he often enjoys the silence, watching the dwarf whittling away at a piece of wood in his hands with astonishing skill whilst he himself sits next to him, engrossed in a book. Bombur is their youngest sister and allegedly the best cook in the village - she and her wife Rúna are mothers to a horde of children of all ages that make up half of Balin's class at school and Bilbo takes a long time to remember all their names.

The Ri siblings are a different story. Shy young Ori is the oldest in class certainly the best of Balin's pupils who is obviously preparing the young dwarrow to take over his own rule one day. It takes a while for Bilbo to coax him into conversation but he finds that once he gets Ori talking on books and scriptures, the young lad is inclined to never truly stop. Bilbo loves to see the joy on his face as it lights up when he talks about his passion. His older sister Nori is rarely there, but she clearly dotes upon her youngest brother just as much as Dori, the oldest of the three and the weaver and sewer of the settlement. Bilbo also gets new clothes made by him after realising that his old ones are worn out, the bad smell from the prison and the days after forever clinging onto them. He had not wanted to depend on old clothes from the others to get dresses and Dori is only too happy to help him in return for Bilbo helping him with a few other tasks.

And then, of course, there's Thorin - he's somewhat of a mystery to Bilbo. His sister Dís is clearly in charge of the village whilst he seems to spend the entire day away from his kin and friends, always up before sunrise and never home before nightfall. Balin explains to him that Thorin is labouring in the nearby villages of men or out hunting all day to provide food and coin for his family. He also mentions that Thorin and Dwalin are best of friends which Bilbo finds strange since he never sees them together. In his wilder dreams his mind notes the striking similarity of both the raven Durin's and Thorin's eyes, but he dismisses such wild speculations almost immediately.

Thorin is courteous enough when they meet and clearly fond of his family and the dwarrows around him, his laughter ringing out loudly during the rare times it breaks through the dark look on his face. He always takes interest in the events of the day when they are told to him in the evening and often enough spends an hour or more in the evening sparring with his sister who's skill with a blade certainly rivals his own. Once he has seen how taken his nephews are with Bilbo his politeness seems to give way to true warmth and he even starts asking Bilbo about his happiness with life in the village. Thorin seems satisfied that the hobbit is doing so well, always working enough so that he doesn't feel like a burden to anyone here. After a while Bilbo cannot help but share the love those close to him seem to harbour for him and begins to understand the difference family can make to happiness.

Bilbo finds himself growing fond of all the dwarves around him, fonder than he ever thought he would. He's now looking forward to each new day, wondering what it is going to bring and delighting in the prospect of seeing his friends again. He has never truly called a place 'home', not since his mother died - but now he finds himself more and more often thinking of the little village as exactly that, a home to return to and live in.

After a while his presence in the village is accepted by those but the most conservative of dwarves that still mutter about the need for secrecy amongst their folk whenever he is near. He knows that certain things are still being withheld from him, even by friends - there is never any mention of the past before their life in the village and rarely does he hear a few words of Khuzdul, the dwarves' secret language. What nobody seems to be talking about either is the reason why Dwalin seems so intent on returning to Erebor, but Bilbo has the feeling it is connected to the secrets of the past. He doesn't ask anymore, respecting the dwarves' decision not to tell him since Balin has told him plainly once that some things are better left buried.

Nonetheless, the thought of Erebor causes more and more anxiety within Bilbo with each passing day that spring is drawing closer. The snow is melting already and he knows the day will come when Dwalin will ask him again. He also knows that he has no right to deny him his request, especially not when he and the other dwarrows have done so much for him. To go back on his word would be more than dishonest - it would be a slight of the worst kind, especially against his newly won friends. However, the more he thinks about it, the more he doesn't ever want to see Erebor again, too. There seems to be no way out of his dilemma.

*

Spring is now close at hand, the snow melting slowly and leaving the ground muddy and difficult to walk upon, even though the days are still cold. Durin seems to get more and more agitated with each passing day, barely sitting still for longer times. Dwalin, too seems to feel it and more often than not Bilbo sees him talking animatedly to other dwarves, always stopping as soon as he draws near.

However, fate seems to have decided to take matters into its own hands before it can be revealed what is going on.

Bilbo is out unusually late one night, the little dwarflings already long abed. Thorin seemed distracted when he had come by for supper earlier and exchanged dark looks with Dís and Balin, talking to them in a low voice about matters Bilbo was obviously not supposed to hear. Now he has remembered that he left one of his books out at the little wood shed in the forest he sometimes retreats to to read in peace and quiet, a book that he will need the next day for teaching one of the lessons at the school. Despite the late hour he takes a lantern and ventures out into the forest - it is far less than an hour's walk away and he keeps telling himself that it should be no problem

The forest at night looks much different from it during daylight and all of a sudden a memory of decades ago comes to mind, the night where he thought he had seen a wolf with a glint of gold in its ear. He shudders slightly and draws his coat closer around himself, trying to smother the nervousness rising up inside him.

He only sees them when it's too late. They must have been camping not too far away, planning to advance towards the village the next day and once again, it's simply Bilbo's sheer bad luck again that lets him stumble across a few of them who have gone away from camp. He catches a glimpse of a light between the trees that's spilling out between a few bushes and definitely _shouldn't_ be there and suddenly there's the ringing of iron being drawn from sheath in the air and an arm clasps him roughly from behind.

Bilbo yells loudly and draws the dagger he has been carrying with him. Dwalin has insisted that he received at least some training on how to handle a weapon during his stay and those lessons come in more than handy now - the man obviously thinks him unarmed and easy to take, small creature that he is, but he soon teaches the soldier better. With a cry he plunges his dagger into the man's arm, remembering just in time to wrench it out again before his opponent staggers back.

His shouts, however, have alerted more of them, two men and two orcs, and no matter everything he has learned, Bilbo cannot fight and win against all of them. He scratches and bites and his dagger draws blood more than once more, but in the end the situation is starting to look dire. Just as he is about to make one desperate last stand there is a snarl from his right in the woods and a shade jumps out from the shadows. Everything around Bilbo seems to be happening at once. Between the growls and bellows there are ripping sounds and men screaming around him, but all he can spot is a light brown blur and soldiers falling to the ground with blood spurting from their wounds. It takes him a moment to process what he's seeing, but then he feels fear surging through him again as he recognises a large wolf attacking the soldiers savagely and trying its best to kill them all. Even though the beast has made no move on him yet, Bilbo uses an opening between the soldiers to run and try and get away as fast as possible.

He catches his breath behind a few trees, something urging him to look back to see if he was right and his throat almost closes up when he sees that he was. A huge wolf of light brown with darker streaks in its fur is killing the last of the soldiers who didn't flee in time. There is blood dripping from its jaws as it looks up again, straight in Bilbo's direction. Bilbo's heart stops when he catches what looks like a glint of gold in the beast's ear. It seems like the wolf wants to pursue the last one of the fleeing men, but then it turns around, stance alert as it looks to his right. There is the sound of a low voice, too quiet for Bilbo to understand it. Somebody else is here.

Bilbo almost shouts when he sees who it is - the figure is too far away for him to see any details, but the height and long wavy hair streaked with grey can only belong to one person he knows. Thorin. The dwarf looks at the corpses littering the ground and extends a hand to the wolf. After a moment the beast comes walking over to him, sniffing and licking Thorin's hand. Within the space of a breath the dwarf drops down onto his knees and pulls the wolf closer so that its head rests on his shoulder and he can put his arms around it.

The two of them disappear into the shadow of the forest after what seems like only seconds and Bilbo would have thought it all a dream if it weren't for the bloody and mangled corpses still littering the ground. He still has no idea what just happened, if those two were really the same pair he has caught a glance of all those decades ago and whether it was truly Thorin. Still numbed from what he has seen he stumbles back to the village, any thought of his book completely forgotten. He finds little sleep that night, his dreams haunted by images of the wolf ripping out throats, the snarls echoing in his mind until he wakes up shouting and drenched in sweat, unable to unravel the mysteries of the night and not believing half of what he has seen anymore.

*

Dwalin has found the encampment of the soldiers shortly before Bilbo. He had been trawling around the fire, always far enough away so as not to be seen, but close enough to hear what they wanted. What he feared has become reality and he and Thorin have been recognised when they fought off the soldiers threatening Bilbo for the first time. The next day they will come into the village to find him and Thorin and question them about the thief, not knowing yet that he's hiding right here. Dwalin has also seen the one that leads them, a sight that makes cold anger roil in his gut and almost led him to forget himself. He hadn't planned on attacking the soldiers, but the face of Azog, the one who has helped slaughter so many innocent lives at the side of Smaug is seared into his mind forever, just as much as his grip around Thorin's arms when Smaug had laid the curse upon them. It takes everything he has to hold back.

It's Bilbo who leaves him no other choice in the end. Dwalin wonders briefly why the halfling would be out in the forest at such a time and even the unlikely idea that he plans on giving them away to the soldiers flitters across his mind. Then the scent of blood fills his nose and he finds his body springing to action without much of his own doing. Bilbo is fighting well, the lessons he gave him clearly having born fruit - but the hobbit cannot stand against men and orcs outnumbering him by far, all taller and stronger than him as well.

He reaches them just when the situation begins to truly become hopeless, shooting out of the night with a loud snarl and burying his fangs in the throat of the man about to attack Bilbo. From here on Dwalin forgets everything around him, lets his senses be flooded by fight and death, the instincts of an animal taking over. His sharp claws leave bloody grooves on any body part unprotected by armour and his fangs rip open skin and fabric, not heeding the men's screams around him. It is a frenzy that he loses himself in every time, one that is both exhilarating and frightening and sweeps him away with the strength of a wild river. It is impossible to resist.

When he comes to his senses again he is almost alone. There is one last man left but he turns on his heels and flees the moment Dwalin growls deeply in his throat. The animal inside him screams of pursuit, to bring down the last of his prey, but a soft call brings him back to his own senses.

"Dwalin."

A shudder runs through him when he looks around and sees the corpses littering the ground. Bilbo is not amongst them, thank the Maker - the halfling has hopefully fled already, back to the village. Dwalin is a warrior, used to taking lives and usually not stirred by the sight of blood or injury. Such carnage as he sees now, however, makes him shiver from the sheer anger and savagery that lies behind it. It has always been his greatest, deepest fear that he will one day lose himself in the wolf's senses and never find his way back. The soft call sounds through the air again, coming from right behind him. Dwalin growls from pure reflex as he whirls around and reels back at the last possible moment.

Thorin is standing between the trees, hand extended towards Dwalin and utter trust in his eyes, not a hint of shock or fear visible. Dwalin whines very quietly and makes his way over to Thorin, paws all but soundless on the ground. He sniffs at Thorin's hand, glad to be able to escape the smell of blood around him, and licks it, tentatively at first as if to ask him for permission. Thorin gives him a little smile and sinks to his knees, arms around the wolf and his face buried in Dwalin's fur within moments.

"Are you hurt?" he whispers. Dwalin shakes his head and puts it back on Thorin's shoulder again, enjoying the sensation of Thorin's body so close to his own. He is glad Thorin hasn't seen Azog or he would have charged at the soldiers of orcs and men serving under Smaug no matter the outcome.

"Good." Thorin hugs him a little more tightly. "Come, they might be coming back any moment. We should leave before they see us."

Dwalin whines again, slightly questioning.

"No, we'll leave them here. A few got away anyway and they'll tell the soldiers at the main camp what happened. Did you hear what they were saying? Are they here because of us or Bilbo?" Dwalin gives a frustrated snarl as reply. It is difficult to have a conversation with someone if only one of them can talk.

"Sorry." Thorin murmurs. "Let me rephrase it. Is it because of Bilbo?" Dwalin nods and huffs affirmatively.

"So they recognised us when we rescued Bilbo and now they suspect we are hiding him here?" Dwalin finds himself nodding again. Thorin scowls darkly in the direction of the soldiers.

"I wonder why they waited until spring to come though...well, it doesn't matter now. We need to get away. And we need to warn Bilbo before tomorrow somehow. I should probably leave a note for Dís so that she knows why we're gone and that the soldiers that have been seen in other settlements before are here now. And then we should return home."

Thorin can see that Dwalin doesn't seem to be too happy with his suggestion of turning tail and running, but there is no way for Dwalin to tell him that Azog is there amongst the soldiers.

"I don't like it either, Dwalin." Thorin sighs and rubs his forehead, eyes dark with weariness. "But we can't do anything and you know it. We would only bring the halfling and the others into more danger if they knew we were here. I'll fly over to the village tomorrow and watch what's happening."

He pats the wolf on the head and Dwalin has no choice but to go with him when he turns around to leave, following Bilbo's tracks back to the houses scattered around the clearing in the forest.

They make their way back to their own home that very same night, Dwalin walking ahead and Thorin following him with a lantern in his hand that he took from Dís' house after leaving a note for her. Dwalin notices how tired Thorin is and he worries that his partner will make a wrong step on the treacherous path, stumble and fall; but he also knows that nothing would be able to stray Thorin from his path, just as he will unable to keep him from flying off the next morning into danger unless he chained him down.

They reach their little house securely despite his fears. It is tucked away on a small cliff in a valley in the mountains far behind the village, far enough away that no one who doesn't know where to find it could stumble upon it by accident. It is no more than a few hours until dawn when they arrive, barely enough time to catch a wink of sleep before their transformation begins.

Dwalin's first words, trembling and naked as he still is, tumble out of him before he can stop it.

"Don't go, Thorin. It's too dangerous."

The raven, ruffled and exhausted as well, just looks at him, the expression in his blue eyes saying everything without any need for words before he spreads his wings and flies up to sit on the bird post that stands in the corner of the room, similar to the one in Dís' house. Thorin croaks and Dwalin sighs, pushing himself up from the ground and putting on the clothes that Thorin has put out for him earlier. Half of him wants to shout at his partner, wants to tell him that Azog is waiting there for him and will surely recognise the raven. The other half knows that it would only serve to harden Thorin's resolve. And so he keeps quiet.

"At least have something to eat before you go." he murmurs and goes out to rummage around in their little storage hut on stilts where they keep most of their food in winter, a safe distance from all but a few predators. Most of the meat is still frozen, but the raven doesn't care when Dwalin cuts off small slices and throws them at him. His own appetite is all but gone - he had eaten well before the fight yesterday and felt no desire for food afterwards.

Thorin shakes out his feathers again once he's done and tilts his head, giving Dwalin a questioning look. Dwalin rolls his eyes and sighs, offering his arm for the raven to land on so Thorin can hop onto his shoulder again and rub his head on his cheek, his own way of apologizing. He softly trails his fingers over the small feathers on Thorin's head in response and opens the window with his other hand.

"Promise to be careful. And now go, I can see how impatient you are."

Thorin makes a soft sound in his throat and croaks again. His talons dig hard into the fabric of Dwalin's clothes before he takes flight, soaring out through the window and into the grey sky of the last days of winter. Dwalin watches him until he is no more but a small black dot, disappearing soon behind the trees in the direction of the village.

Then he waits.

He does everything in their home he can think of, even those tasks he has always evaded, like cleaning out their rooms or resorting their stack of clothes, carefully separating those that are still whole from those that need mending and those that are in such bad shape that they can only be used as rags in the forge. He also repairs the one chair that has been wobbly for months. And yet it is still a few hours until mid-day when he is done with all his tasks and of course, Thorin hasn't returned yet.

There is a bad feeling gnawing at Dwalin's gut, an instinct deep inside his bones that tells him something has gone wrong even though he doesn't know what it is. However, since his nights are spent in the shape of a wolf he has learned to trust those instincts more and more and instead of sitting around idly and waiting for his partner to return home he decides to go down to the village and see for himself, soldiers and Azog be damned.

He only takes his weapons with him, some water and a change of Thorin's clothes, knowing that it will take him at least until noon to get back to the others. Dwalin walks as fast as he can, driven by purpose and worry about Thorin, a nagging that gets stronger the longer it takes him to get there. He almost runs the last bit of the distance, his mind filled with pictures of Azog breaking a raven's neck in his huge hands. He stops himself before he can barge into the village and attract all the attention they had originally thought to avoid.

There are loud voices coming over from the free space amongst the houses and Dwalin slowly walks closer, taking care that he remains unseen. It means that he cannot look himself upon what is happening and has to rely on sounds alone. Hot anger rises up in his chest when he starts listening.

There are at least a dozen soldiers if not more according to his ears, his senses remaining sharpened throughout the day as shade from his nightly form. There is another, calmer voice amongst those of the men and orcs and Dwalin recognises Dís immediately. She is now the leader of her people and acting as if she were in complete control of the situation. He can't hear Fíli, Kíli or Bilbo, but there must be other dwarves there for he can hear angry murmurs buzzing in the air.

"We _know_ he is here." a voice snarls and Dwalin feels a growl form deep in his throat at the familiar tone.

"He is not. And neither are the dwarves you seek." Dís' voice is firm and Dwalin can almost see her in front of his inner eye, standing tall and proud with her hands upon her favourite battle axe and looking up at the men and orcs in front of her. She is the kind of dwarrowdam that would never be swayed, no matter the threat in front of her.

"Do not lie to me, _dwarf_." The last words is spit out with such a ferocity as Dwalin would pronounce 'scum'. Surely an orc then, for both their races hold no love for each other. "Where is he?"

"Not here. And I bid you to leave those grounds now; you have no authority here. These are not your master's lands."

A laugh, deep, rough and menacing and something inside Dwalin gives way to the icy burn of rage, mixed in with tendrils of fear. It is Azog. There is a suppressed sound somewhere above Dwalin and he looks up only to see a dark shadow in the branches over him. The bird is mostly obscured by the trees but there is no doubt as to who it is and from the quiet, threatening laugh that follows the sound Thorin made Azog knows it, too. Dwalin can only pray that Thorin stays patient, doesn't get swayed by blind rage that might cost him his life. He should be safe as long as he remains hidden.

"Ah, but I fear you are mistaken. What goes on here is almost definitely my master's concern - and you are far enough away from your friends in the Iron Hills that you are on your own."

Dwalin can only imagine the rage blazing in Dís' eyes now and the angry frowns from the rest of the dwarrows.

"That might be so, but the answer is still the same. No."

"Very well." There is a pause and the sound of Azog sharply commanding something in his own sharp language, followed by some footsteps retreating and coming back a short time later. There is an audible gasp from Dís and the other dwarves and then a soft whimper that makes Dwalin's heart turn to ice. Kíli. He knows that Fíli has to be there, too, for he never strays far from his brother. He likely tries to be quiet and brave even in the face of fear. If Azog sought to intimidate Dís with the capture of her children, however, he would soon learn that he had just awakened the dragon in Dís, daughter of Durin and would not escape her wrath unscathed.

"Let them go." Her voice is icy and promises endless torment for anyone who would dare use her children so.

"Oh no, not so quickly." Azog snarls. There is another choked-off sob from Kíli and a few soothing words from Fíli before the grating of steel rings through the air and they are abruptly quiet. "Your answers in return for getting them back unharmed. Consider it, _Lady_ Dís, but don't take too much time. I'm afraid my soldiers have neither much patience nor a steady hand these days..."

Dwalin feels his hands clench around the hilts of his own axes, so close to running out and coming upon them. For a moment he wishes he were a wolf still, could make quick work of the orcs and men that are threatening his kin with claws and teeth. It takes all the patience he has not to try and bury his weapons in Azog's head now.

Dís doesn't reply and suddenly there is a short scream in the air, definitely coming from Fíli's lungs. It is answered by an angry shriek and the sound of flapping wings as a raven descends from the tree above Dwalin, right down towards where the orc, men and dwarves are gathered.

Dwalin curses and he knows he has no choice now, knows Azog has been waiting for this and deliberately tried to rile both Thorin and his sister up, something that he has succeeded admirably in. Praying that he won't regret his choice he steps out and around the house, his two axes firmly in hand.

What greets him is chaos.

Thorin is furiously attacking the orc who holds Fíli, a cut on the lad's shoulder bleeding and staining the fabric around it a deep red. The raven is aiming at his eyes and face, his talons and beak doing a lot of damage. Dís is fighting with another man, the one that must've held Kíli who is just carried away from the fighting by Bifur. Fíli screams again, this time a scream of rage, and wrenches himself out of the orc's grip to run to his brother's side. At least the two of them know that they are both far too young to face this fight. The man Thorin has been attacking goes down and with another angry shriek the raven is now looking for Azog, rising up in the air to gain a better overview over the situation.

Dwalin is almost there now, he can see the other dwarves besides Dís brandishing their weapons and fighting too, his brain registering that most of the dwarrows not in the mines throughout the day are there - only Bombur and the miner Bofur are missing of those he knows best. Dís has made short process of her first foe and is now swinging her big battle axe with both hands, daring anybody else to come close to her and threaten her children again. Dwalin also sees that Azog has stepped back from the initial fray, a loaded crossbow at his side that he's now raising and aiming at Thorin, Thorin who is still blind with rage and seeing nothing but the enemy he has hated for so long.

Everything seems to happen at once - Thorin spots Azog and lets himself fall from the sky in his direction, Azog's finger pulls the trigger and the bolt loosens and buries itself in the raven's body, close to the wing.

Dwalin screams, a howl of wordless rage and fear, watching helplessly as the bird drops and tumbles to the ground, unable to get up again. Azog stalks towards his prey with a leer on his face and small, measured steps, taking his time and savouring the pain and fear bleeding through the rage in the raven's eyes. Dwalin wants to throw himself at the orc, but suddenly there are two more soldiers in his way, weapons raised and blocking the path between him and their leader. He can only watch helplessly as Thorin tries to get away, right wing flapping uselessly and small drops of blood littering the ground. Azog steps on the feathers of wounded wing and laughs quietly, bending down to claim his prize.

Another strike is aimed at Dwalin and he blocks it with a roar, sending one of his opponents to the ground. But there's still the other one and he cannot get past him in time. Distracted as he is, he doesn't pay enough attention and the man's blade sinks deeply into his leg just as a small shadow jumps out of the forest and lashes out at Azog with a shining blade.

*

The morning after the wolf had unexpectedly come and saved him from the soldiers during the night is chaotic. Bilbo walks into the living room of Dís' house to find things in a state of uproar. Dís is holding a note in her fingers with what Bilbo recognises to be Thorin's remarkably fine handwriting on it. The sight brings everything from the previous night flooding back to him - the soldiers, the blood gleaming on his own little dagger, the wolf ripping and tearing his way through bodies. And Thorin, locked in an embrace with the same animal.

Dís notices his hands trembling and the hundred questions that must be on his mind, but she cuts them off with a single movement of her hand.

"Bilbo, you must hide. There are soldiers outside and they are looking for you. You cannot be seen here, or it might cost you your life. Go to Bombur's, she and Rúna will give you all you need and show you where you can stay. We will send someone for you as soon as it's safe to come back."

Bilbo is slightly overwhelmed, the events around him happening much too fast. Someone presses a bundle into his hand and he notices belatedly that it has his dagger and a small sword on top of it, cleaned and sharpened.

"Fíli! Kíli!" The two dwarflings come running at their mother's voice, knowing well that it is a tone that allows no argument.

"You'll go with Bilbo. Stay with him and Bombur's children until someone tells you to come back, yes?"

"Yes ma." Fíli nods, a solemn look on his face and taking his little brother's hand.

"Good." A smile suddenly lights Dís' so serious face and she pulls her children close, holding them tight and ruffling their hair. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine."

"Really?" Fíli's voice is no more than a frightened whisper, the facade of the brave son finally breaking. "You said the same when Da didn't come back from the mines."

Dís closes her eyes, an expression of pain flickering over her face and suddenly Bilbo feels like an intruder in her house. He shouldn't be here, he has no right to witness something like this.

"I know. Sometimes accidents happen. But I will give my best today that they won't, okay?"

Fíli nods, sniffling quietly.

"Okay."

"Very good." She surprises Bilbo by coming over to him and giving him a hug as well, one that he returns with all his strength after a moment of hesitation.

"Thank you." he says quietly. "For letting me stay here, for risking your lives to protect mine, for...everything."

"You're most welcome." Dís straightens up again, throwing a look outside. "You should better get going before the soldiers come."

Bilbo nods and swallows, hoping that everything will indeed be fine like the dwarrowdam has promised. He has no wish to see anybody get harmed for him, least of all the dwarves he has grown to like so much over the past few months. It feels like he finally has a home again and he is loathe to lose it. With Fíli and Kíli close to him he makes his way over to Bombur's house, leaving Dís and Balin behind to discuss the best way to get rid of the soldiers as fast as possible.

Bombur seems to know exactly what's going on, welcoming him with a short embrace whilst the dwarflings are already skipping off to join her own children. She shows Bilbo the room at the back of the house that is seldomly used and will be his until the soldiers are gone. With a grin she also removes the woven carpet on the wooden floor and reveals a trapdoor underneath, leading down to the cellars.

"I'll see it out of the windows should they come and want search the house. Rúna is also going to be at the meeting and will hopefully give us message should anything happen. Nobody will find you down there and there's a bit of food and drink and a bed to sleep on stored there already." Her tone tells Bilbo that this doesn't seem to be the first time that such a room is needed and for a moment he wonders what sort of story might lie behind it.

The morning passes in relative peace and Bilbo is starting to hope that maybe, the soldiers were scared enough by the wolf's attack that they left again. Of course that isn't the case and shortly after midday there is an commotion outside. He withdraws to the back of the house into the small guest room, hoping fervently that he won't have to use the little hiding place. Bombur stays to keep an eye on the children and her wife leaves, to see what is happening.

There's a cry in the kitchen not long after and Bilbo thinks the soldiers must've entered the house - but then he hears Bombur's voice, raised in both anger and worry, and realises that something else entirely has happened.

"They are _what_?" she demands to know of her third youngest, staring wide-eyed at the frightened child.

"They have run off. They told me their Ma would need them and I couldn't-" the dwarfling sniffs, tears running down her face. "I couldn't hold them _back_ mam, I'm so sorry, but they were too strong and I-"

"Sssshh, sssshhh it's okay." Bombur draws her daughter into a hug and pats her back, looking at Bilbo over her shoulder with her brow furrowed in concern. "It wasn't your fault, _nuthel_ , it's fine."

She doesn't even seem to notice the Khuzdul slipping past her lips in Bilbo's presence and it is just as well because in the past months the dwarves seem to have become much less eager to guard their secrets from Bilbo. Had he had any mind left to worry about scholarly pursuits at all he would have noted down the word in his mind and tried to puzzle out its meaning later.

Before he can think about what he's doing Bilbo has already walked into his little room and retrieved the sword and dagger that Dís had given him. He refuses to look at the consequences that could arise from his actions for all of them too closely. All he can think of is that two boys and all of his friends are in danger and only because they had done well by him. Bilbo has never been the most courageous of people, but now the feeling suddenly finds him and hardens his resolve into icy steel. He will help them, and if it should cost his own life to do so, then so be it.

His determination pushes back all fear he has felt so far - it isn't gone, no, but instead just hidden somewhere at the edge of his mind where it can do no harm and he feels as if he's watching himself from a great distance. Bilbo barely hears it when Bombur asks him what he's doing and wants to block the way outside. He just meets her gaze and that moment she steps aside, puts a hand on his shoulder and bids him wait for a moment. He is almost out of the door when Bombur comes back, her own weapon, a spear, in hand and nodding at him with a grimness in her eyes he has never seen there before.

They don't speak much on the way but circle around the houses and use the understorey of the forest as cover to get as close as possible before they attack. Maybe Fíli and Kíli have just gone home; maybe they are fine and all the commotion was for nothing. But of course they aren't and when Bilbo sees them in Azog's grip (for he knows the orc as well, he has been infamous amongst all of the prisoners in Erebor) he feels his hands grow cold. Both dwarflings are clearly frightened even though Fíli is trying to look brave, one of his hands firmly intertwined with his brother's who's trembling like a leaf, young dwarrow that he still is.

Bilbo can only admire Dís' calm in face of her children's fear, but when they hurt Fíli and Durin sweeps down from above he is close to jumping up and out between the houses. Bombur pulls him back with all her might and the only reason he lets her is because he sees that all of the dwarves are now ferociously attacking, too. He might not even have had to help at all, especially when Dwalin breaks out with a roar from behind another house. But then Azog shoots Durin and Bilbo feels something inside him give way, not taking a single moment to wonder at himself why a bird would mean so much to him.

He's on his feet when Azog stalks over towards the wounded raven. Bilbo straightens his shoulders and takes a deep breath before he breaks out of the row of bushes they have been hiding behind and throws himself at Azog with a cry on his lips, vaguely aware that Bombur is following behind him.

For Durin, he thinks as he sinks his sword deep into Azog's arm. For Fíli and Kíli and Dís who have brought laughter back into his days again; for Dwalin who has saved his life and turned out a better comrade than Bilbo could ever have imagined; for Balin, teacher and companion, and all the others that have become his friends. And for Thorin whose quiet strength is holding it all together even though he doesn't seem to know it and who has made him feel more valued than he ever thought he would be.

Time seems to stop and for a moment only Azog and him exist. The orc is distracted long enough to loosen his hold on Thorin's wing, giving the raven the chance to limp away. Bilbo wrenches his blade out of the orc's impossibly thick, leathery skin and lifts it again, but this time it's blocked by Azog's own weapon - a scimitar, it's edge glinting dangerously sharp. The orc is an experienced fighter and is seemingly unfazed by the wound Bilbo has just dealt him - and by his sheer size and strength alone the hobbit is soon pushed into the defensive. Every time their weapons meet he feels his arms tremble under the assault, but he tries to hold out, giving the raven a few more moments to get as far away as possible.

Azog brings down his weapon in another arc that is clearly meant to slice Bilbo in two and he catches the blade right above his head, gritting his teeth against the pressure as their weapons connect, his own sword almost breaking under the impact. His arms and lungs are screaming and he knows he cannot hold out much longer, the scimitar already lowering slowly and reaching the first of the curls upon his head. And suddenly the fear is back, blooming inside him with petals of black and red and making him shiver.

A shout splits the air around him and the pressure is gone from one moment to the other. Dwalin roars again, throwing himself against Azog with his complete weight, his two axes crashing down furiously on his opponent and involving him in an immediate fight. Bilbo knows he would only get in his way if he tried to help and a look around him shows him that the rest of the dwarrows have the other soldiers under control. That leaves only...

With a heart heavy with fear of what he might find he follows the trickle of blood and the sound of pained screeching on the ground to where Durin is lying. The raven has given up on trying to escape, visible shivers running through his body from the cold ground as it tries to move its wounded wing but fails to do so. Bilbo kneels down next to him, hands hovering over the bird, unsure of what to do. The bolt has penetrated skin and flesh and likely broken bones as well, one end coated in blood as it's sticking out of the raven's body close to the base of its wing. It is a wonder that Durin still lives - it must have been just far enough away from any major blood vessels or organs that it didn't cause immediate death.

Durin shivers again and looks at him, blue eyes clouded with pain and another pained screech escaping his throat as Bilbo tries to lift him up and away from the ground. The raven makes another sound and turns around to hack at Bilbo's fingers as they touch him, obviously jostling the wounds. He makes a few vain attempts to get away, the ground under him reddening again with yet another portion of freshly spilled blood from the aggravated wound.

"Durin, no, I'm just trying to help, you need to hold still-" The raven doesn't seem to know his voice anymore, lashing out again in near-madness from fear and pain.

"Thorin." Bilbo doesn't even register the voice at first, because Thorin isn't here, he's away- but then Dwalin drops down to his knees next to him and repeats the name and Bilbo knows he's talking to the raven, even though the realisation of what it actually _means_ hasn't sunk in yet.

"I tried to help but he won't let me close-" he tries to explain whilst Dwalin brings his hands closer to the raven, bit by bit, softly calling his name. He just shakes his head at Bilbo and denotes him to be quiet with a quick gesture, his voice never stopping to spill as many words as Bilbo has ever heard from him in one go.

"Thorin, it's fine, it's me. I know it hurts, but don't be afraid, don't give in. I'm here Thorin, I'm here and I'll help you. It'll be fine, just stay with me..."

His fingers finally touch the bird and although he trembles he doesn't move to get away. Dwalin picks him up with a gentleness as if he would be handling a small child, taking care not to come anywhere near the crossbow bolt as he wraps him in his own coat that he has shrugged off earlier. All the while he keeps talking and his voice seems to soothe the raven in ways Bilbo cannot quite understand yet.

"Óin!" he bellows for the healer and the old lady comes running. Bilbo realises only now that the battle around them seems to be finished, and although there is more than one body on the ground he doesn't see Azog's or that of a few of his men amongst them. Neither of them belongs to the dwarves either though and Bilbo feels a wave of gratitude surge through him.

"This looks bad." Óin murmurs as she's looking at the bird's wound, Dwalin holding the raven so that he can't peck at the dwarrowdam, his wings and feet already restrained by the blanket wrapped around him. "We'll have to wait until nightfall before taking out the bolt or I fear he wouldn't survive."

Bilbo frowns; he doesn't understand why they can't take it out now for surely, leaving it in for the hours until sunset will only mean higher chances for infection to set in.

"Nightfall..." Dwalin murmurs and an old pain flares up in his eyes.

"I'm sorry." Óin's voice is soft as she rests a hand on his arm. "But we have no choice. If we can keep him alive until then his chances to survive are much better. Keep him warm and try to feed him some water from time to time."

"We can't stay here though." Dwalin's eyes travel around the houses and the place they are in, resting briefly on Dís who is holding her boys in a firm embrace. "If Azog should return with more men..."

"Go and find Tharkûn." Óin suggests. "The old man's place is far enough removed from the prying eye of any soldier and he will be able to aid with the healing as well. And take the hobbit with you, I don't think the village is a safe place for him anymore."

"We'll have to hurry if we want to be there before sundown." Dwalin sighs and slowly stands up, careful not to jostle the bundle in his arms too much. "Bilbo, come."

"Durin! Durin!" It's Kíli's voice that breaks through the air as the small dwarfling is running towards them, tears filling his eyes as he sees the raven in Dwalin's arms. His mother and brother are following closely behind, Dís' brows creased in worry. Kíli extends a hand towards the raven but stops before he touches him, seeing that he wouldn't like it.

"Is he going to die?" he asks Dwalin with a tearful voice. Dwalin attempts a smile, but cannot hide the worry in his own eyes.

"No, Kíli, he isn't." he says with a surety he doesn't feel. "He's a strong raven and we'll take him to Tharkûn, he'll be able to help."

"Ah..."It's clear that Kíli doesn't quite believe Dwalin, but for now he seems to try and trust him anyway. Dís puts a hand on his shoulder, Fíli still pressed to her other side, the wound on his shoulder already neatly bound and seemingly no greater cause for concern.

She ignores the quietly croaked protests of the bird and, holding his beak with on hand, presses a soft kiss on his head, whispering something that only she and the raven can understand.

"Take care of him, Dwalin." she says softly. "Please."

"You know I will." Dwalin replies, his voice rough and quiet.

"I know." She smiles, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. "You always have. Thank you."

They briefly rest their foreheads against each other before Dwalin turns around to leave, making sure that Bilbo is following him.

It is no more than an hour past midday when they leave the village behind and start to ascend the flank of the mountains the settlement is built on. Bilbo looks back, thinking of his friends still down there and the events of the morning. He feels like everything around him is in shambles and doesn't know how it will go on; but go on it must and he's willing to follow this new path and see wherever it takes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nuthel = girl of all girls (I was free enough to interpret this as 'best of daughters')


	3. Chapter 3

Dwalin has little else on his mind but the raven in his arms when they start ascending the mountains behind the village. It’s a steep climb but he doesn’t even seem to feel it, his thoughts occupied solely by trying to coax Thorin through, giving him water in regular intervals and attempting to calm him so that the instinctive fear of the animal he’s caught in doesn’t overcome the dwarf’s reason altogether. Dwalin knows Thorin can feel his own worry emanating from him and he tries to appear as calm as possible; but it is a hard thing to do when the one you love is in danger of bleeding out in your arms.

“Just until sunset. Hold on until sunset.” It’s almost like a prayer that he keeps repeating over and over again, partly for himself, partly for the bird in his arms. He’s knows that the transformation will be uglier this night, will hurt even more than usual and he hopes Thorin will be strong enough to withstand the pain. But once his partner is a dwarf again Tharkûn will be able to take out the crossbow bolt without causing too much damage and treat the worst of Thorin's wounds before sunrise arrives.

Bilbo is trudging along behind him, falling back more and more on the steep mountain side and only able to catch up a little every time Dwalin stops to give Thorin some water. The Hobbit is unused still to climbing and walking for longer than an hour or more. Dwalin doesn’t notice at first, being too occupied with making Thorin last the afternoon to pay much attention to anything else. If anyone had decided to attack them here they might have even stood a chance, distracted as he is. Only when Bilbo calls out to him during the next short break, his voice faint and almost carried away by the wind, does he look back.

“Dwalin, I’m sorry, you need to slow down.” Bilbo is completely exhausted, face red and gulping down big lungfuls of air as he finally comes to a stop next to him.

“We need to hurry.” Dwalin eyes the horizon critically, the sun already much too deep for his taste. It is still quite a way to Tharkun’s home.

“I’m sorry.” Bilbo says again and it’s clear that he doesn’t only mean his slowness, but everything that has happened this day. “I can’t go much faster. You go on ahead and I’ll catch you up.”

Dwalin stares at him, knowing that Bilbo is aware that he could easily get lost here. The hobbit doesn't understand the drivers behind Dwalin's urgency but still he is willing to give up his own safety for Thorin’s. It catches Dwalin unawares, this sudden display of friendship, and with a forced smile that turns up the corners of his lips he looks down at the hobbit next to him, suddenly remembering who it was that had rushed out of the understorey to save a raven's life with no regards to his own safety. And he hasn't even thanked him yet. Dwalin knows he won’t leave him here. Not after what he has done today.

“There’s still time.” he tries to reassure Bilbo with a certainty he doesn’t feel. “We can make it.”

"We should have taken ponies." Bilbo muses as they start walking again, Dwalin just a thought slower this time so it is easier for the hobbit and his short legs to keep up with him.

Dwalin snorts, thinking of how the animals panic whenever he comes near them. They are far more susceptible than their two-legged owners and know of the wolf inside him. Even Thorin makes a weak chuckling sound in his arms and Dwalin looks down at him with a small smile, heartened that the bird yet seems to understand him and was strong enough to give a reaction.

"I fear that ponies have little liking for me." he tells a puzzled Bilbo. Of course he could have given Thorin to someone else and let them ride ahead, but not for anything in the world would he have left his partner in the time that he needed him most. Bilbo is wise enough not to inquire more, but the looks he is giving both him and Thorin tell Dwalin that his thoughts are spinning. Dwalin knows the hobbit is by no means stupid and he will figure it out sooner or later. Still, the worry about their secret coming to light is limited, a minor concern in the back of his mind compared to the much larger problems they are facing right now.

"Thank you." he says suddenly after another while of walking up the slope. Bilbo frowns, caught off-guard by his gratitude.

"What for?"

"For saving his life." Dwalin forcefully keeps himself from adding a 'hopefully' at the end of it. Thorin _will_ live. He has to. His fingers softly trail over the few exposed bits of the raven's body, the gentle movements helping Thorin to calm down and find a focus through the pain that must still be blinding.

"Oh, that. Uhm. I wasn't even really thinking when I did it. It just...happened." Bilbo is obviously slightly uncomfortable with the praise, not being used to such, at least when it relates to actions in battle. He fidgets around with the edge of his coat, not looking Dwalin in the eyes as he's speaking.

"And a good thing it is that it did." He gives Bilbo a warm smile. Should Thorin truly survive this day and night than they will both owe the hobbit their lives, for there would be no Dwalin without Thorin to keep him sane and the other way around. Bilbo looks up at him, smiling back, but suddenly his eyes widen.

"Dwalin, you're bleeding."

Dwalin follows his gaze to his leg and the wound he received when fighting against Azog's soldiers earlier. Rage still overcomes him when he thinks of how their enemy had yet again managed to escape them with a handful of his men and orcs, Azog's own giant warg coming to its master's help at the last possible moment. How he wishes he would encounter the beast during night and fight until both their bloods are boiling.

He has wrapped a hap-hazard bandage around the wound earlier, trying to stench the flow of blood . Thankfully the cut missed any important blood vessels and so he had brushed it off as a thing of no concern; once Thorin was looked after he would take time out for himself.

"It is nothing." he tries to assure the hobbit, but Bilbo doesn't look convinced.

"There's a lot of blood coming through. Maybe we should stop for a moment and-"

"No!" he growls and, in a softer tone as he sees Bilbo frown at the his harsh reply, adds: "We cannot afford to lose any more time. Tharkûn will help once we have reached his home."

Bilbo sees that there is no arguing, not when Dwalin is like this and so he apparently tries to direct their conversation in a different direction.

"So, who is this 'Tharkûn' you keep talking about? And why does he live so far away from everyone else?"

Dwalin takes his offer of talking about something different than what is looming before them and the nagging fear in his chest whenever he looks down at Thorin. The raven doesn't make a sound and is barely moving anymore, the movement of his chest and occasional shifting of his gaze the only signs that he is still alive.

"He claims to be a wizard, although whether his claim is true or not, nobody can say. He does have some skill at healing, though and sometimes, when he comes down to the settlement, Óin confers with him about herbs and healing techniques. The old man has often been a guest in our village since we have founded it and his never changing age is perhaps the only indication that he truly has magic in him. Less than a decade ago he moved into an old forgotten ruin on the mountain flanks and has since rebuild part of it with our help and made it his home. That is all I know."

Bilbo follows his words with an interested look on his face, but they seem to tell him little of what will actually await him. Truth be told, Dwalin is still of two minds about the old meddler whom he likes to call Tharkûn as well - true, the old man has never done badly by them, but there is still something about him that makes him be on his guard whenever he is near the old wizard. He knows Thorin harbours no great love for Tharkûn either - despite all he has done for them, he has also only appeared when it seemed convenient for him to do so, not necessarily when they needed the most help. Both of them have seen too many of their people die on their flight from Erebor to be able to feel much gratitude for those times that he _has_ saved their lives.

The sky hast started to turn red when Tharkûn's home finally appears within sight and Dwalin exhales with relief. Thorin is still alive, cloudy blue eyes focusing on Dwalin when he looks down at him.

"We're almost there, Thorin. I can see the house already."

The raven gives a quiet croak at his words and Dwalin can see his body trembling from cold and pain. He pulls the wrapping of his coat more tightly around him, knowing that it's the only thing keeping Thorin warm and guarding him from the chill so high up the mountainside where snow is still covering the ground everywhere. His own leg has started aching more and more in the last hour and by now he is more limping than walking, but he presses on resolutely, doesn't stop until he is standing in front of the heavy wooden door that marks the entrance to Tharkûn's place. Shifting Thorin's weight so that he can hold him with one arm he uses his other to bang on the hardened wood as loud as he can, calling out his own name so that Tharkûn knows who comes calling on him so late during the day.

Bilbo has fallen behind on the last part of the march, obviously at the end of his strength and ready to collapse when he, too, finally arrives at Tharkûn's door. It opens just as he walks up behind Dwalin and a tall man appears on the steps leading outside. He casts one look at Dwalin and the bundle in his arms and another, more curious one at Bilbo standing behind him before he waves them inside.

"Come in, come in."

Dwalin strides into the old man's home, already feeling the first pull of the change on his body, knowing he will have to hurry. The large space is exactly as he remembers it from his last visit here a few months back and he pays the piles of scripture on the tables lining the wall next to the window no more heed than he has done the first time around. Tharkûn hurries on ahead, opening several doors in the large building that was once part of a fortress until they get to a room warmed by a large fire in the hearth and lit by several lanterns and candles. There is a bed in one corner and a pile of fresh straw in the other, presumably to stuff the mattress. Now Tharkûn takes out a few blankets from a chest at the end of the bed and spreads them on the straw.

"Put him down here." he tells the Dwalin who is still loathe to let go of the raven in his arms, but follows Tharkûn's suggestion after only a moment. The change is imminent and his clothes are already starting to feel wrong on his skin.

"I'll be back later." he tells Tharkûn and gently strokes his thumb over Thorin's head one last time before he leaves. He doesn't need to tell the old man to care for Thorin because he knows that he will. It isn't the first time one of them was hurt and even though they both prefer to be treated by Óin and remain in the settlement, it isn't always possible, especially with more severe wounds that force them to lie still for more than one day and when soldiers are likely going to roam the village for the next days.

He hates that he has to leave but he knows what the smell of fresh blood will do to him, especially with a full moon so close at hand. Dwalin would take no risks, especially not with Thorin's life at stake. Still, not to be able to be by his partner's side when he needs him most hurts more than anything else Smaug's curse has ever done to them.

Bilbo looks at him when he strides past him, seemingly confused and unable to understand why Dwalin would leave now. He will know soon, that much is sure and Dwalin can only hope that their trust in the hobbit is well placed. Once outside he strips off his clothes as fast as possible, watching as the sun travels beyond the horizon, the change beginning the very moment the last of its rays disappear.

Maybe it is his own wound, maybe it's the agony that his partner must be feeling - but today the change is bad, worse than it has been in a long time. His own screams echo Thorin's, those of his partner loud enough to travel through cold and stone and reach him all the way out here. It feels like someone is forcibly dismantling his body and putting it together in a different form and today he can feel every single sinew, every bone, vein and piece of skin changing shape, pain racing through him every moment of it, leaving him weak and almost unconscious in its wake, as if to mirror his partner's state.

It takes him longer than usual to draw himself up onto his legs and shake the lingering weakness from himself. Belatedly he notices that the wound on his leg has started bleeding again; the pain pierces through his mind like a sharp blade, but he bats it away, licks the cut as clean as he can and starts prowling around Tharkûn's house, keeping vigil until he will be able to go back in again.

*

" _Gandalf_?!"

Bilbo wasn't sure at first when the old man had opened the door just to hurry away again a moment later and show Dwalin the way. But he catches a closer look at him once they are there inside the room and Dwalin is putting down the raven, suddenly in a strange hurry to leave. There is no doubt now - even though he is wearing different clothes and not his telltale hat at the moment there can be no mistaking him. It's the old man Bilbo has seen often at his home when he was but a child. Gandalf had been friends with his mother, drinking tea with her every time he came and delighting everyone in the village with his fireworks.

"Gandalf?" he asks again as soon as Dwalin has left and this time the old man turns around and smiles when he looks at him, a spark of recognition in his eyes.

"Ah, if this isn't Bilbo Baggins. Master Baggins, such a delight to see you again! You must tell me all about how you have fared. However, I believe we should get out of the room first..."

He puts a hand on Bilbo's back and guides him out with firm pressure. The raven has started stirring again and he wants to ask whether they shouldn't be staying with him and finally do something about that crossbow bolt now that the sun is almost gone, but then Gandalf closes the door firmly behind them. Bilbo just wants to ask him what on earth he is doing here and how the dwarves know him so well when a shriek pierces the air.

It is the raven and Bilbo wants to wrench open the door when Gandalf holds him back, the grip of his fingers tight around his arm.

"No, leave him be. He prefers to be alone when he goes through the change."

"The change? But-" Bilbo bites off his own words, thinking again about what he has seen and heard. Thorin, embracing a wolf with gold in its ear and holding it close; Dwalin with a raven on his arm, eyes blue as the summer sky and so much more affectionate than the rest of its kind; Thorin's name on Dwalin's lips in gentleness laced with boundless fear; old legends that talk of a wolf and a raven, two dwarves, never in the same shape yet always together and suddenly the coin drops.

Bilbo gasps.

"He's Thorin. He's the same, he shifts-"

"Yes, yes, quite right my dear Bilbo." Gandalf wants to say more, but the shriek that has stopped a second ago flares up again and this time, it is definitely not a bird, but a dwarf. Thorin screams as if his body is being ripped apart and Bilbo grips the drawer next to him so tightly that his knuckles shine white and he thinks he must be leaving grooves in the wood. Gandalf is busying himself with collecting supplies from the room - clean bandages and pieces of cloth, a variety of herbs.

It finally stops after what seems like an eternity, the screams resounding in Bilbo's ears long after they have ended. He had never considered that the changing could be connected to so much pain, yet it seemingly is worse than he could have ever pictured and he cannot imagine what it must be like to go through it every time at sunset and sunrise.

Gandalf gives Thorin a few moments longer to collect himself before he goes in, Bilbo on his heels. The hobbit's head is swimming with questions but he knows now is not the time for them. They have to see to Thorin first.

The dwarf is lying on the impromptu bed made of blankets and straw, one of the covers pulled over himself but he seems to be shivering despite the warmth in the room. His skin is sweaty and pale and there are lines of pain both past and present etched into his face. He's panting heavily and the crossbow bolt is still stuck in his shoulder, fresh blood oozing through. Something doesn't look right, as if the bones in his shoulder are not at their proper place and Bilbo sees him wince as he's trying to move to greet them properly despite his injury.

"Lie still or you'll make it even worse." Gandalf advises him and Thorin seems to be only too glad to follow his words.

"Master Baggins." he greets the hobbit, somehow managing to look collected and almost unfazed despite his situation and the fact that Bilbo now knows his greatest secret. He also extends a nod to Gandalf which the wizard graciously returns. "I apologize for calling upon you again but in light of the situation it seemed...advisable."

Gandalf gives a small snort, a sound that seems to be rather unfitting for the tall man.

"'Advisable' isn't the word I would use, Thorin Oakenshield. It was a close call and you are by far not out of danger yet." Gandalf's eyes rest ever so briefly on Thorin's mangled shoulder and the blood still flowing from the reddened and swollen edges of the wound.

"Do what you must." Thorin says quietly and Gandalf nods again, settling down onto the ground next to him, eyes closed and extending his hands, fingertips gingerly touching his wounded shoulder. There is a sharp intake of breath from Thorin but with an obvious act of strength he seemingly wills himself to remain still despite the pain.

"The bolt did much damage in your bird's body." Gandalf says, a deep frown appearing on his face. "Your shoulder blade and the edges of other bones are all but shattered and the wound is already infected. I can help with fixing the bones in the right place so that they may grow together correctly again, remove the bolt and quench the worst of the infection so it won't kill you, but I'm afraid this is all that is within my might right now. I do not possess enough power to banish the infection completely and you won't be able to use your arm or wing for quite some time."

Thorin closes his eyes briefly, a variety of emotions flickering over his face before opening them again, his blue gaze suddenly forged of steel.

"Do it." Gandalf doesn't hesitate for a moment, spreading his supplies on the ground around him and helping Thorin to move a little so that he lies in a better position for him to do his work. The few motions leave Thorin gasping for breath already and drain all remaining colour from his face. Bilbo notices the shape of a tattoo on the inside of his right arm, a raven done in the geometrical design that is so typical of the dwarves' handiwork.

"Bilbo, I need your help." The hobbit, who had been standing in the background so far, jerks to attention at the sound of his name. "Try and hold him still. Taking out the bolt will hurt fiercely, but if he moves it will only make it worse."

Bilbo nods, his mouth suddenly dry. He doesn't have much strength to speak off and never done such things before; how can Gandalf be sure he will be of help and not worsening the situation? Someone else should be here to help, someone stronger, someone more familiar with Thorin-

"Dwalin." he says suddenly. "Where's Dwalin?" Even in wolf's form it should be no problem for the warrior to hold down his companion.

A wounded look flickers into Thorin's eyes, accompanied by an expression of pain that is gone as fast as it had appeared.

"He does not trust himself in the presence of the smell of fresh blood. He'll be back later." Gandalf answers in his stead. Thorin's face remains unmoving but Bilbo can see how much it must pain him that Dwalin isn't here. "Now, hold still."

Bilbo still hesitates to place his hands on Thorin's skin, the gesture seeming somehow inappropriately intimate. But Thorin doesn't flinch when Bilbo's cold fingers touch him, fixing his arm and shoulder in place and he keeps his gaze hefted to the ceiling of the room although it is anybody's guess as to what he's truly seeing. Gandalf hands him a piece of hard-boiled leather that Thorin takes without a word and places it between his teeth. Bilbo sees why after a moment - from the way his jaw is clenched he would have broken them otherwise.

Gandalf exchanges one last look with Bilbo, giving him a barely visible nod and the hobbit tightens his grip the same moment that Gandalf's hand closes around the bolt and begins to pull. Thorin's scream is muffled through the leather but it's still loud enough to set Bilbo on edge, especially when it's answered by a wolf's howl from outside. He fears his grip will be leaving bruises on Thorin's skin later, especially when Gandalf murmurs a curse and something about splinters after eying the piece of wood in his hand and takes a pair of forceps that he dips briefly into boiling water before poking around in Thorin's wound again and pulling out several small shards of wood.

Thorin's body bucks wildly under Bilbo's hands and he has trouble keeping the dwarf still, throwing himself over his lower body with his own full weight to keep him from moving too much in the end. He just wishes it were over, Thorin's muffled screams and the wolf's howling filling the air. Once Gandalf's finally finished and has both cleaned the wound and sewn it closed, Thorin seems close to passing out, spitting out the piece of leather and panting heavily, his eyes closed.

"We're almost done." Gandalf tells the dwarf reassuringly, but Thorin doesn't react, not even when the wizard places his hands on Thorin's shoulder and closes his eyes, murmuring under his breath. Bilbo swallows when he sees the odd bits and bumps move under Thorin's skin as the shards of his bones are starting to knit themselves back together. It's still painful for him, Bilbo can see, but seemingly not as bad as before, for Thorin isn't screaming but just breathing in an out sharply through his nose, his jaw clenched.

When Gandalf is done he, too, looks exhausted although the angry red lines around Thorin's wound have somewhat lessened in intensity and his shoulder at least has a normal shape again. Gandalf sits back on his heels and wipes a hand over his brow, eyeing Thorin with a frown on his face.

"It wouldn't have been half as bad had the bolt hit you as you are now." he rebukes him gently. Thorin only answers him with a quiet snort. Gandalf leans forward after a moment, pressing a piece of clean cloth over the freshly sewn wound and reaching for fresh bandages that he winds firmly around Thorin's shoulder with Bilbo's help, setting his arm in a sling to keep it fixed.

"Azog had my nephews." Thorin says quietly. To Gandalf it seems explanation enough for the wizard sighs and says no more. When he is done he helps Thorin lie down again, a weary sigh escaping the dwarf once they are finally finished. Suddenly he looks old and somehow tired, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and pain.

"Dwalin." he murmurs with much more longing in his voice than Bilbo would have ever thought to hear there. Gandalf nods at Bilbo when he hears it, cleaning up the bloody rags and implements from the ground and throwing the bolt into the fire.

"Go and fetch him, Bilbo. It'll do this stubborn dwarf good to have him here."

Bilbo isn't really sure that he should be the one doing the fetching - after all, he still can't quite believe that the wolf he has seen was truly Dwalin. And the last memory he has of the beast is that of him attacking the soldiers around him, savagely ripping out throats and skin, blood dripping from his snout.

Dwalin is already waiting before the door when he opens it, his grey eyes drilling into Bilbo's and stance quiet and alert, so different from the wolf that has killed several men the night before within moments.

"It's fine Dwalin, you can come in now, Gandalf says." Bilbo tells him and feels strange for a moment to address the wolf with such a familiar name.

Dwalin just flicks an ear at him and limps past Bilbo without another glance, seemingly eager to get to Thorin and remembering the way. Bilbo follows him back to the room where Gandalf is currently busying himself at the fire with a few mugs and some herbs.

Thorin smiles weakly as soon as he catches sight of the wolf, holding out his healthy arm and burying it in his fur as soon as the animal plops down on the ground next to him.

"Hey." he whispers softly. Dwalin whines and licks his face, his head propped on Thorin's healthy shoulder. The smile on Thorin's face deepens a little as his grip around the wolf tightens. It is then that Bilbo somehow understands that they must have been more than friends before the curse struck, although he cannot say how or why he knows. He withdraws quietly until he stands next to Gandalf, giving the two of them a quiet moment together.

The wizard offers him a cup of tea which Bilbo takes with murmured thanks. Two mugs in hand Gandalf then walks over to Thorin and Dwalin.

"Something against the pain and fever," he says, nodding at Thorin's shoulder. The dwarf eyes him and the mug in his hands critically.

"Not too much, I hope?"

Gandalf smiles at his words and the wolf gives a quiet huff from where he's lying, still pressed tightly against Thorin's good side.

"No. The effects will vanish before sunrise." Thorin nods in thanks and accepts the mug, and, with an unhappy expression, Gandalf's help with drinking it. Turning to Bilbo who has followed the exchange with no small amount of puzzlement, he explains: "Whatever foreign substance is in Thorin's body stays there even during his change - all of it. Suddenly concentrations that seem to be normal for a dwarf increase until they are much too high for a bird's body - we thankfully discovered it after one too many mugs of ale, but too much of a painkiller or sleeping aid and it could make the raven sick or even cause his death."

"Oh." Bilbo hadn't really thought about issues like this. Obviously the transformation is a lot more complicated than he thought - but then he thinks back to Thorin's screams behind the closed door earlier and knows that it certainly can't be a simply smooth swapping of one body with the other. It's likely also the reason why Thorin's bones haven't healed, but simply stayed in their broken shape during the change.

"Gandalf." Thorin calls the wizard's attention back to himself and the wolf next to him. "Dwalin's leg was wounded during the fight earlier."

Dwalin opens his eyes from where he is peacefully resting his head on Thorin's shoulder and growls slightly at him.

"No." Thorin tells him quietly. He still sounds tired. "I know you don't like it, much less when you're a wolf, but it needs to be looked after. Dwarven you will be unable to just lick it clean and let it heal like you do now. "

The wolf gives an annoyed huff coupled with a yelp when Gandalf gingerly parts the blood-encrusted fur on his hind leg to look at the wound beneath, frowning as he does so.

"Bilbo, can you bring me the vinegar again? And boiling water, the needle and thread we used earlier and clean bandages, too." Bilbo tries to remember where the old man had put all his implements and finds them after a few moments, bringing them back to Gandalf who swaps a gaze with Thorin after which the dwarf tightens his hold around the wolf and moves, so that his own head lies next to Dwalin's and he can whisper into his ear without trouble. Thorin's words are only for the two of them, but his expression tells Bilbo that he must be talking about an event long in the past that belongs to the two of them. His distraction works and Dwalin doesn't struggle too much whilst Gandalf is working on his wound, Bilbo helping to hold the leg still, fingers buried in his soft fur.

Gandalf sighs once he is done, tapping Bilbo on the shoulder to signal him to get up and follow him.

"You two should try and sleep. I will wake you before sunrise so that I can loosen you bandages before the change. Dwalin, wake me up should Thorin's fever get much worse."

Dwalin huffs and draws in his injured leg, inching closer to Thorin who smiles at the wolf, exhaustion and fever written all over his features. He settles with his head on Thorin's chest who doesn't seem to mind the additional weight and instead keeps his arm slung firmly around the wolf, eyes already closing. To Bilbo it seems that they are as close as two beings can only be, yet separated by an unbridgeable gap they can never cross. It makes something inside him ache and he wonders whether he would ever be able to do as they do, holding on to something that already seems lost.

*

"You look famished."

Bilbo looks up from where he has been staring into his mug, trying to cope with the events of the day. His mind doesn't even know where to start and it all seems a tangle in his head, impossible to sort out. Maybe Gandalf is the one with right approach. 'Never think on an empty stomach.' his mother had told him and as always, she was likely right.

"In fact I am." he says, drawing himself up and looking over to Gandalf who seems to be humming to himself as he is stoking up the fire in the room.

"Good. Yesterday's stew is almost warmed up again and there's some fresh bread in the bag on the shelf over there. Bowls and spoons are in the third cupboard from the right."

Bilbo should be angry about Gandalf commandeering him around but instead he's thankful for being able to busy his hands and find some respite from the shouting of all thoughts in his mind. He cuts off enough bread for the two of them and starts to set the table with everything necessary for their dinner. Gandalf tastes the stew he has been making and, with a satisfied nod, ladles enough of it into their bowls to fill them to the brim. Only when he digs in does Bilbo recognise just how hungry he truly is; he hasn't really eaten anything since the morning and the fight and violent march up the mountain side have left him as famished as Gandalf said he looked.

They both eat in silence, Bilbo allowing himself more than one follow-up serving with Gandalf's approval, and it isn't until they have cleaned their crockery and put it away that Bilbo speaks again.

"You called Thorin 'Oakenshield' earlier. I've never really heard the name before - what was it about?"

Gandalf raises his eyebrows and looks at him, seemingly trying to decide whether he should be telling Bilbo or not.

"It's a long story that you stumbled into, Bilbo Baggins, and a strange one." he finally says. "But like it or not, you're lost in it now. And I would tell you all that has happened to lead up to this point if you're willing to hear." Bilbo nods, suddenly sure that yes, he wants to know. He is a part of this now, for better or worse and he realises that there is no way back into his old life, not with what he has seen. So he can as well listen to the complete story, no longer forced to be content with just glimpsing a fragment of it here or there.

Gandalf gets out a beautiful old piece made out of polished wood and a bag of what is obviously pipe weed of the best quality from the smell if it. Bilbo pats the pockets of his vest and realises that his own pipe is still in his room down in the village; in all the excitement this morning he has forgotten to bring it. Gandalf seems to notice his plight and without another word he walks over to one of the many drawers lining the walls of the room and rummages in one of them, finally producing an old pipe that has clearly seen better days but will do nicely for now.

Bilbo thanks him and finally Gandalf begins his tale, both of them enveloped in clouds of heavy smoke.

"More than a hundred years ago the kingdom of Erebor was home to the dwarves. They were a mighty race and lived in prosperity, both their kingdom and the surrounding cities lacking in nothing. It wasn't always peaceful, but mostly just and the ruler, King Thrór, saw his line secured with a son and three grandchildren. Two of those you have met - Thorin and Dís who in those days roamed the great Halls of Erebor with their brother Frerin and their friends."

Bilbo almost chokes on the lungful of smoke he has just inhaled. He knew of the lost kingdom of the dwarves, of course, and that the royal line had been all but ended in its fall - but he hadn't known that Thorin and Dís were kin to the great ruler himself. He thinks and calculates and suddenly he blanches when he realises that this means Thorin is king. And Dís, Fíli and Kíli all are his heirs. He has lived with royals and not even noticed - his mother would either have chastised him greatly now or fallen off her chair with laughter. Likely both. Gandalf pats his back, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes before he continues.

"As you know those days didn't last long. There are more wizards in this world beside me and not all of such kind disposition. Smaug is one of them and I have often heard it rumoured that he is but a dragon who has taken human-like form although I cannot attest to the truth of those tales. But he had his eyes on the mountain and his riches for quite a while and when Thrór's strength finally began to wane he thought his time had come. Smaug has long since made a pact with the orcs roaming the lands and their lieutenant, Azog, and his son Bolg have proven to be the most deadly extension of his will.

It is said that he came upon Erebor with fire and smoke, killing all those who dared to oppose him including the old king Thrór, the new king Thráin, his wife and their son Frerin. It is rumoured that both Dís who was barely more than a child back then and Thorin could only make their escape because of their parent's sacrifice; but Thorin has never spoken of these days and I have never asked, so no one knows. It is known that he fought against Azog himself after he had beheaded King Thrór and stood against him with nothing but an oaken branch as shield and weapon when he had lost his sword - that is where the name Oakenshield comes from. Fact is that the last remnants of the royal family could flee the mountain together with a few of their closest friends and kin, including Dwalin and Balin whom you have met, as well as Óin and Glóin.

Thorin lead his people away from Erebor and many perished in the following hard winter, but without his firm lead it would have been many more, of that there can be no doubt. His temper, however, was not so easily swayed and the thought of revenge ate up both night and day for him. Come spring time he bid his people farewell and gave the reins of kinship over to Balin so he could teach his sister who has handled them with a careful and firm hand ever since she was old enough. He forbade anyone else to come with him for he knew about the madness of his venture and did not want see those fall he had given so much for to see them survive. Dwalin, however, would not be swayed and I am sure by now you have guessed the strength and nature of the relationship between them.

They managed to sneak into the kingdom via a hidden door, the same one they had escaped through and get as far as the former throne room in which Smaug now resided. Both Dwalin and Thorin rarely speak of the day so few truly know what has happened; but whatever attempt they made on Smaug's life was all but useless. He had probably planned to kill them but something must have shown him the bond that was between them and he decided to curse both their lives and their love instead.

I cannot even fathom the magic that was needed to complete such a deed but the workings and strength of the curse have proven to strong for me to unravel. Thorin and Dwalin have been since then like you see them now, forever forced to change form at sunrise and sunset and never able to spend a moment together when they are not separated in one way or the other. To all those of his folk not living in the settlement you have been to Thorin is dead and the Lady Dís is the ruler of their people. Only few people know the whole truth behind what has happened and I would make you promise not to tell anyone else for it would likely mean the loss of the last bit of peace they still have, although even that is likely to change now that Azog and his soldiers have found their way here."

"It is my fault that they came." Bilbo says quietly, still shaken from what he has heard. Over a hundred years...more than a century of living with the pain of changing twice a day. He wonders if the other would still be there if one of them had died in the mean time. Gandalf raises his eyebrows when he hears Bilbo's statement.

"Your fault? I have heard a few things about you, Bilbo Baggins, and why you are here, but I did not think that you had called the soldiers here."

It is meant as a nudge for Bilbo to stark talking - and he gladly takes the hint for he knows it will do him good to share his story as a whole. Gandalf must know more than one bit of it, but the events of the day, for example, are new to him and Bilbo feels his stare drilling into his soul as he recounts every single detail. Gandalf asks him questions and more than one, trying to get to the ground of many situations and Bilbo is surprised at finding out how much he still remembers. Talking about it also seems to help him see events in a new light and more orderly fashion - they are no longer a garbled mass somewhere inside his head, but he can now see the mechanisms and reasons behind them.

He understands now why Thorin has attacked Azog yesterday even if it almost meant his own death; he also understands the strength Dís has shown in the face of fear and the desperation in Dwalin's voice as he has called out to his partner. They refill their pipes many times throughout the night as they keep talking and Bilbo is grateful that Gandalf doesn't ask after his parents although he knows he got along so well with his mother. Maybe Gandalf has already heard of what happened, of the day that Smaug's soldiers came and destroyed the village they had lived in over apparent tax fraud. The smoke had choked his father to death and his mother had never been the same again, perishing not long after and leaving Bilbo with almost nothing in the world safe his quick fingers and quiet feet.

Bilbo has little idea of what time it is but the place of the stars on the sky has changed and the fire is burnt down to mere ambers, so it has to have been quite a while since the sun has set. He feels comfortably drowsy now and ready to go to bed when the door to Thorin's room moves and Dwalin comes patting through and towards them, paws making not a single sound on the stone floor. His gaze grazes Bilbo but it's Gandalf he goes to, stopping a foot away from him and whining quietly, grey eyes worried.

"Is it Thorin?" Dwalin huffs and nods, then whines quietly again. Gandalf signals Bilbo to stay where he is and follows the limping wolf back inside the room as quietly as possible so he doesn't wake up Thorin. It doesn't take long for him to come out again, a slight frown on his face as he stokes up the fire and busies himself with some herbs and a mug again.

"His fever has risen." he says after Bilbo shoots him a questioning glance. "I don't think it will be too much of a danger as long as it doesn't get higher, but I'll try to give him some more willow bark tea again. At this concentration it should hopefully work on the bird too without endangering it."

Gandalf does as he has said, vanishing into the room again not much later with a steaming mug and a cool cloth in his hands and a piece of raw meat for Dwalin. The wolf doesn't seem to have eaten anything all day and he will not go out to hunt, opting to stay at Thorin's side for the rest of the night instead.

"There is an unused bed in the corner over there." he points out to Bilbo as he comes out, indicating a wooden frame at the other end of the room. Bilbo nods gratefully, now feeling positively sleepy as the strain of the day has finally left him. He feels safe enough with Gandalf so that he falls asleep quickly, but his dreams are still littered with orcs and men, ravens and wolves, dwarves and wizards and so he wakes up more than once, a shout still on his lips and sweat running down his body.

*

Dwalin had sworn himself to remain awake for the rest of the night so that he could guard Thorin and keep an eye on his partner in case his condition should worsen. But he is tired from the day and the previous night as well and now that his belly is filled not even his nagging worry about Thorin can truly keep him awake. Thorin's skin is soft under his head, the muscles beneath it moving only slightly as they follow whatever feverish dream he is having right now. His partner's hand has buried itself immediately in Dwalin's fur again once he had returned to his position by Thorin's side. Dwalin has no objections to it, Thorin's heartbeat thundering in his ears as his eyes are slowly closing, the sound accompanying him into sleep.

It is his own body that wakes him up the next morning shortly before Tharkûn does. Sunrise is only a few minutes away and he can feel the familiar twinging and shifting inside him that signals the imminent transformation and is as familiar to him as his own breathing now. Tharkûn has removed the bandages around his leg already and is now turning towards Thorin who is much harder to wake up than Dwalin was. He doesn't want to rouse Thorin by jostling him around, for the dwarf might wake up thinking he was being attacked and any sudden movement would only harm his shoulder. Dwalin licks his face and softly nips his skin with the edge of his teeth until Thorin finally wakes up. His fever hasn't gone down much but it hasn't risen either and so he is of good hope that his partner will make it.

There is still pain and feverish weariness in Thorin's eyes when he looks at him as Tharkûn removes his bandages, too, but a trace of strength is already back in the shining pools of blue in his eyes, together with the familiar warmth that is still reserved for Dwalin even after more than a century. Dwalin licks his cheek again and a small smile flickers over Thorin's face, his healthy hand automatically starting to scratch Dwalin behind the ears in a weak movement. Then a spasm runs through his body and he gasps, at the same moment that Dwalin feels it too. Thorin curls up into a ball and Dwalin withdraws into another edge of the room as their transformation begins. Gandalf has thankfully left and closed the door, but the stonen walls of the room amplify each noise, a cacophony that threatens to tear Dwalin's already burning senses apart.

He is faster on his feet than the evening before and his first deed is to look after Thorin and keep him from moving his injured wing, thus rendering all the efforts of the night for naught. The raven has managed to tangle himself in Thorin's blanket and his cries for help sound both indignant and frightened. Dwalin frees him as quickly as possible, drawing a good portion of the blanket over his own nakedness in the process and carefully holding Thorin with both hands so that he is unable to move. His thumbs stroke the bird's feathers and he speaks a few calming words to him before he calls for Tharkûn.

"We need to bind his wing and keep him from moving it." he says as an explanation for his still undressed state and the raven in his hands. Tharkûn just nods, his thoughts obviously running in similar ways since he his carrying fresh bandages in his hands. Thorin eyes Tharkûn and the white fabric in his hands with obvious disdain, even managing a weak peck at him even in his feverish state when he comes close. Tharkûn draws his hand back with a curse and gazes at Dwalin who obediently moves to hold Thorin's beak closed with one hand, still trying to keep the raven's wounded wing close to his body with the other.

"Hold still." he tells Thorin in an annoyed tone as the raven tries to flap his healthy wing to get out of his grip. "Or I'll bind your beak closed for the rest day. We're only trying to help you, but if you move that wing you'll never heal." A muffled croak comes out between his hands and suddenly Thorin sits still. There are still occasional shivers running through his body from the fever and obviously it is harder for him to keep a grip on sanity with the illness in the bird's body but he obediently lets Tharkûn check the wound on his shoulder (now suddenly looking so much larger when the body bearing it is so much smaller) and bind both the injury and the wing to the body so he is unable to move it. Tharkûn forces him to drink some tea before he has a look at Dwalin's leg, cleaning his wound again and wrapping another bandage around it before he withdraws to leave the dwarf some privacy so that he can get dressed.

Dwalin takes a moment longer to hold Thorin close in his arms, letting his body heat warm the drowsy and exhausted-looking raven before he gently puts him down on the pallet and stands up to get dressed. To his relief he finds that someone must have brought in his clothes from where had left them outside the previous night. Thorin remains where he has put him, already falling asleep again. He picks him up before he leaves the room and is greeted by the smell of cooking in the main room. Bilbo is seemingly still sleeping in the bed in the corner and Dwalin shakes his head, marvelling at the hobbit's ability to find sleep no matter what has happened.

Tharkûn nods at an old wooden crate he has procured from Mahal-knows-where and filled with fresh straw and several blankets to soften its bottom side. Dwalin is glad that it isn't a cage - both he and Thorin have an instinctive dislike of cages and his partner especially ever since he once got caught and was offered for sale on the nearest market. Dwalin is only glad he managed to buy him back before the sun had set. He places Thorin in the crate, the raven croaking weakly, obviously unwilling to be parted from his partner for long, but unable to follow him, weakened and bound as he is. With a soft smile Dwalin runs his thumb along Thorin's head, rubbing gently and trying not to worry about the far too hot skin beneath until the raven lets out a little sound of satisfaction and falls asleep in his makeshift nest not long after. Only then does Dwalin sit down and eat the breakfast Tharkûn has prepared for them both.

Thorin and Bilbo are still fast asleep when they are done and Dwalin eyes the rapidly shrinking pile of wood next to Tharkûn's fire place.

"Do you keep an axe?" he asks the old man and when Tharkûn points him to a large one perfect for splitting logs that is sitting next to wood he grunts and takes it outside after adding another layer of fur to his own clothes. Making firewood is the best distraction he can wish for at the moment and he ignores the protest from his own leg as he swings the axe again and again, making short process of the logs stored next to Tharkûn's house. The heavy bodily work helps to distract him from his own thoughts and worries and when Bilbo has finally woken up and comes out of the house his clothes are drenched in sweat but he's also a lot calmer than before.

"How's Thorin?" he asks the Hobbit who shivers slightly at the still cool air, cradling a mug of what looks suspiciously like hot coffee in his hands to warm himself up.

"He woke up when I was having breakfast but after Gandalf gave him more tea and promised him that you were fine and currently just attacking a few logs with an axe he went back to sleep. Gandalf said he'll be fine with enough time and care. How's your leg?" Dwalin takes a moment to recognise the name Bilbo is using for the old wizard and wonders where the hobbit might know him from.

"It's fine, was barely more than a scratch anyway."

Bilbo frowns at that but is wise enough not to comment on Dwalin's obvious understatement. He looks down at the mug in his hands and then seems to remember something, removing a bottle of water from where he has been carrying it and offering it to the dwarf. Dwalin grunts a thanks and empties a good portion of the bottle before handing it back to Bilbo. As he does so his gaze lands on the sword sheath on Bilbo's belt and he remembers yesterday's fight again and Bilbo's brave deed in it.

"Have you cleaned your sword properly after using it yesterday?" he asks the hobbit. His surprised stare tells Dwalin that no, such thoughts seemingly haven't crossed his mind, so he gesticulates for Bilbo to sit down on a bench at Tharkûn's house wall next to him. The weapon is indeed still crusted with dried blood and Dwalin shows him how to clean the blade with the rest of the water in bottle. Tharkûn gives them a set of whetstones and oil after Dwalin has asked him for it and he spends another hour teaching Bilbo how to sharpen and oil a weapon and the general rules about how to handle and care for swords.

The entire time the hobbit seems to want to say something, but is obviously unsure of how to phrase it. Dwalin watches him fidget and is just about to suggest they go back inside since they are done with his sword now when Bilbo finally bursts out with it.

"What is it like, being a wolf?" His question catches Dwalin slightly off-guard even though he has almost expected it. He has to remind himself that Bilbo knows their secret now and that the little hobbit has earned their trust many times over and won't give them away. Nonetheless, his question touches on a private issue, more private than Bilbo likely realises. Dwalin hesitates before he answers, thinking closely about what he wants to say and how much he wants to reveal.

"I'm not a true wolf." he says then, cautiously. It is hard to explain and words have never been his strong forte unlike his brother."It is merely the body that transforms, the mind mostly stays the same. That said, there is still a certain part of you that changes, becomes more animal-like - not only the mind and senses in the forma I am in now, as you might have already noticed." He points at his teeth, sharper than that of a normal dwarf and his fingernails which are unusually long, especially for a warrior.

"My senses of smell and hearing are heightened, even throughout the day and Thorin once told me that I am more likely to use my teeth now in a fight than I was before." He doesn't tell Bilbo about the growing bloodlust too, the primal joy that lies in a good hunt and the taste of blood on his tongue. He doesn't want to frighten him, even though the hobbit seems like he is much less likely to be shaken by such things than he was only a few months ago.

Bilbo nods at his answer, opening his mouth to ask more questions but suddenly there's a voice calling out to them and they both look up. A figure is approaching them from the edge of the forest, her black hair like a dark halo around her face despite the multitude of braids in it.

"Dís!' Dwalin stands up and calls out to her and she waves back at them, a smile on her lips that cannot quite hide the worry in her expression. She must have left the village right after sunrise to be here so early, her face flushed from the strain but obviously happy to see both Dwalin and Bilbo. She gives Bilbo a smile and a quick embrace and then turns to Dwalin, their foreheads meeting in a greeting of fondness.

"How's Thorin?" she finally asks, slightly hesitant as if she would fear what the answer might be. Yet she uses the name 'Thorin', not 'Durin', likely having guessed that their secret is no longer a secret, at least not in front of Bilbo. Dwalin smiles at her and clasps her upper arm.

"Alive. He's yet feverish but if we can keep him from moving around too much than there's a fair chance he'll be as good as new in a few months' time."

Dís releases her breath and obvious relief floods her face.

"Thank you for bringing him here." she whispers at Dwalin who is quick enough to give her an embrace. Dís smiles back at him before she releases herself from his arms, turning to Bilbo.

"And you, Master Baggins, my deepest thanks for saving my brother's life." She does a little bow and Dwalin sees how uncomfortable the little hobbit feels that a princess is extending such thanks to him.

"You are welcome." Bilbo replies with all the courtesy he seems to be able muster, inclining his head a little himself. Dís seems content with his answer. With a rather flourished movement she throws back her cloak and reveals a sword on a second belt which she takes off, belt, sheath and all.

"A gesture of my gratitude." she says as she holds the weapon out to Bilbo. "You should have a true weapon for your next fight."

The hobbit seems reluctant to take the sword at first, but after an encouraging nod from both Dís and Dwalin he finally does so and Dwalin can see how he holds his breath when the finely forged steel glides out of its sheath without making a sound. It is a beautiful sword, small enough to fit into the hobbit's hands and not too heavy for him, but still of best make and not to be taken lightly in a fight.

"It was my own when I was younger. I just reforged it slightly so it would be better adapted to your weight and grip." Dís tells Bilbo and he shakes his head, wanting to put it back into her hands.

"I cannot take this, my lady."

"You should." Dís remarks dryly, almost pushing the sword at him. "I'm certainly not going to drag it all the way down the mountain again."

Bilbo finally takes the weapon, seeing that nothing would sway her opinion. He still has a look of awe in his face when he examines the fine blade. Dwalin quietly resolve to offer him more lessons in fighting should he prove himself willing. The sword will never be wasted on him and it is truly a small price to repay him for what he's done, but he will offer help in yielding it as best as he can.

The hobbit doesn't put on the belt, but instead takes the sword into his hands, turning towards the door of the house. Dwalin and Dís come after him so that Dís can drop the items she carries and sit down after the long walk up the mountainside. It is also around lunch time now and Dwalin can feel the hunger slowly awakening inside him.

"Lady Dís!" Tharkûn greets them as soon as they have entered. He has apparently been brooding over several books and scriptures, a table in the corner covered with paper and notes freshly written down in ink.

"Tharkûn." The dwarrowdam inclines her head slightly. "I hope I find you well."

"Yes, yes, everything is fine." The old man waves her concerns aside. "I have heard of your fight against Azog and the soldiers yesterday; I hope no one else was seriously injured?"

"No." Dís replies whilst taking off her coat and removing most of the dirt from her heavy boots. "There were only a few minor injuries that should all be healed within the week according to Óin."

"Good." Tharkûn nods and is seemingly about to say something when a weak croak comes from the crate at the opposite wall and Dís walks over to her brother without waiting for the wizard to say anything else. Dwalin follows her, glad to hear that Thorin seems awake again.

"Thorin." Her voice is soft as she extends a finger towards the bird and gently pets his head and the feathers on his body. Thorin seems a lot more alert than he had been in the morning, the sheen of fever still in his eyes but not as strong as before. He even tries to rub his head on Dís' hand which she replies to with a smile. Tharkûn comes up behind them, holding a small mug with some more tea that he hands Dwalin with a gesture towards Thorin. The raven eyes the liquid with obvious disdain as if he has already grown sick of it, but he doesn't move when Dís holds him still so that Dwalin can pour bit by bit of the tea down his throat. Dwalin hopes that he will be strong enough to drink and maybe even eat by himself again soon enough.

"Where are Fíli and Kíli and how do they fare after yesterday?" Dwalin asks Dís whilst she's busy spoiling her brother. He knows Thorin will want to hear about his nephews, too.

"They are with Balin today and will spend the night over at Bombur's." Dís tells both him and the raven. "They seem remarkably fine, more worried about Thorin than themselves."

She smiles down at her brother who is pressing against her hand now, eyes closed in comfort and weariness.

"Kíli kept asking me whether Durin would be okay and when he could finally see him again and I told him it would be a while since Azog is still looking for both of you and Bilbo. Fíli's shoulder has received no more than a scratch and come evening he was already bragging about it to his friends, although this night he apparently had bad dreams. But it wasn't anything a hug and a few words wouldn't be able to cure. He's worried about you too, Thorin, although he doesn't show it as much as his brother."

Dwalin nods and thinks back of his own dreams the night before, wolfish sensations mixing with the events of the day, the image of Thorin bloodied on the ground burned into his mind.

"You scared us all there." he says softly, looking down at the raven who has opened his eyes again, gazing back at them both defiantly and stricken. Thorin croaks quietly and Dís starts rubbing the feathers below his chin, much to his satisfaction.

"I know there was nothing in this world that could have held you back." Dís adds. "And you certainly helped my sons. But please, Thorin, promise you won't do anything so stupid again. Not when neither Dwalin nor me are close enough to protect you. You won't always be so lucky and have a hobbit jump out of the understorey to save you at the last possible moment..."

Thorin makes another sound that Dwalin is hopeful enough to interpret as agreement to what they have just told him. He knows that there's no truly restraining Thorin, neither as raven nor as dwarf.

Tharkûn has prepared them some lunch and during their meal their talk move on, to plans for the village this year and general talk about its inhabitants.

"When will the village be safe again?" Dwalin asks Dís at one point and she frowns, unsure of the answer.

"The soldiers haven't been back yet, but Azog's beast has been seen prowling repeatedly through the forest and no doubt he has stationed spies in all the surrounding villages. It was hard enough for me to slip away today unnoticed. All three of you shouldn't come back for a few weeks yet I daresay. Better wait for a while and be safe than sorry."

Dwalin nods, his face darkening at her words although deep inside he had already known. It will be better for Thorin to stay here for a while anyway, but he doesn't really want to impose on Gandalf's company for too long. For the moment, however, there seems to be no other choice.

Thorin is still awake once they have finished eating and the fever has sunk again, so with a questioning glance at Tharkûn Dwalin takes Thorin out of the crate with a careful grip and settles him on his lap, hand securely wrapped around him and stroking his feathers until the exhausted bird falls asleep again, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm with the occasional trembling still running through his body.

It is an image of almost domestic peace in Tharkûn's home now, the wizard having gone back to his reading and Bilbo comfortably seated in the armchair in the corner with a mug of tea and a book of his own that he has borrowed. Tharkûn had forbidden them all to smoke for it would do Thorin no good, but Dís and Dwalin have no trouble sitting together and talking instead, reminiscing about both older and more recent times until evening comes and the change is upon them once again.


	4. Chapter 4

The world is still bright and shrill whenever Thorin opens his eyes. Dwalin's hands seem to be the only anchor in the chaos, his grip warm and firm and yet gentle, making him feel safe. Dwalin's arms are the only place he willingly dares to fall asleep in, giving himself over to fevered dreams in which orcs roar and wolves stalk through moonlit nights with bloodied teeth. The fever is still burning through his body and he feels hot, longing desperately for something cool.

The transformation this time is almost a salvation, freeing him from the confines of the bird's body even though the pain accompanying it is as crippling as always and he is unable to hold back the screams that rise once more from his throat. But this time both his sister and Dwalin are there immediately after it is over, her binding his shoulder again with Tharkûn's help and setting his arm in a sling, whilst Dwalin's warm body remains pressed close against his side, warm and comforting. The wizard gives him some broth to eat, hoping that his stomach will be able to cope with such meagre fare. Thorin feels a little better already despite the pain running through him, having a cool cloth draped on his forehead and his back propped up slightly so he can talk without always having to look up.

Thorin forgoes all clothes apart from some undergarments for the moment, the struggle of getting into them with his useless arm too much for his weakened body, especially if he would have to take them off in the morning before sunrise again. And so he sits wrapped in a blanket, gently carding his fingers through the wolf's fur whose head is on his knees. His sister is sitting next to him and he listens to her recount the events of the previous day, both those that he recalls as only a blur somewhere in the back of his mind behind all the pain and those that happened after they had already left the village.

Although he has done nothing much but sleeping all day he already feels tired again after Dís is done. His sister looks at him and smiles, knowing her brother well enough by now that she can guess what is going through his mind.

"You should go to sleep." she suggests softly and she is the only person besides Dwalin whose advice he would willingly follow openly most times. With her help he lies down again, secretly grateful that he had already been sitting in the bed Gandalf had ceded to him earlier.

"You don't need to stay with me tonight." he murmurs in Dwalin's direction. "Go out and hunt. I'm afraid we might be demolishing Tharkûn's food stores otherwise despite what Dís has brought with her."

The wolf huffs at the suggestion, carefully licking his hand.

"I'm sure he won't leave until you are asleep." Dís laughs and Thorin has to smile when he looks at Dwalin's determined gaze. He nods off only moments later, however, and doesn't see how the wolf slips out of the door after a final glance in his direction, making sure he's fast asleep.

The next morning comes with both pain and relief. The fever is finally gone but he stills feels weak and exhausted, even more so after the change. Dwalin binds his injured wing again so that he's unable to move and throughout the day Thorin gets a first inkling of just how boring the next few weeks might get for him, unable to fly around and always relying on others to carry him around since he is unable to get out of the crate on his own. Dwalin tells him that he certainly _won't_ put him anywhere else or the next thing he'll know is that Thorin has wandered off somewhere and they will be unable to find him. And so Thorin is caught between sulking, deliberately annoying everyone with his croaks until Bilbo of all people threatens to bind his beak shut, and trying to somehow entertain himself whilst the rest of them go about their days and his broken body is slowly healing.

Bilbo seems to have changed, somehow, after the fight where he has saved Thorin's life. The life in the village had already started to transform him but now it is obvious - he has found a lot of courage and once he has accepted that Thorin is still Thorin despite his status as royalty, he continues treating him with friendliness and courtesy alike. It is hard to remain distant, Thorin supposes, when the king is sitting in a crate and preening his feathers or trying to steal a bit of meat out of Dwalin's hand when he is sitting on his lap and the dwarf isn't looking.

Bilbo's love for books is obvious and he spends much time with Gandalf, talking about old scriptures, the best pipeweed and how to make the best tea. Thorin has taken to calling the wizard 'Gandalf' now as well, hearing the name so much more often than 'Tharkûn' and Dwalin follows his example quickly. His partner seems to be more unhappy than Bilbo that they are still hauled up here and Thorin knows how much he longs to go back to their own home again although it is all but impossible in his current state.

Dís leaves again the day after she has come. Being absent from the village for too long would be highly suspicious. She has already taken a high risk when she came to see them the day right after the attack and Thorin is unable to rest until Dwalin wanders down into the village one night unseen and reports that everything seems to be fine.

She comes back after several weeks, however, with Balin, Fíli and Kíli in tow. The dwarflings greet their raven with boundless enthusiasm, petting him all afternoon until they have proven that they are careful enough with him so as not to worsen his injury. Then Dwalin allows Fíli to take him out of the crate and put him on his lap and the brothers spend the rest of the day spoiling and feeding Thorin, much to his enjoyment. Bilbo stays with them, keeping an eye on Thorin and the dwarflings so they won't unintentionally hurt them and soon enough he is assaulted with questions from the young ones, about the fight with Azog and everything that has happened since they have last seen him. They have now taken to calling him 'Uncle Bilbo' as well and Thorin smiles internally when he hears it.

Balin watches them for a while with an amused smile on his lips before he withdraws outside with Dís and Dwalin, presumably to inform his brother about the happenings at their village. Thorin is unconcerned; it had stung him years ago when they had first done it, but now he knows that they are moving out of earshot simply so that they don't slip up and call him by his true name in the presence of the young ones. They will tell him everything later, once his nephews are asleep.

This night they change outside, in the forest. Dís has brought several of Thorin's clothes along and after much fumbling and cursing, accompanied by Dwalin's jaws hanging open in a mocking grin he has finally put them on. They have decided to take the risk and have him come to meet his nephews today, pretending that he had just come back from a long working period in a village farther away and walked up the mountain after he couldn't find them at home. In his heart he knows that they won't be able to keep up the ruse for much longer; Fíli has already started asking questions and it's anybody's guess what goes on in his mind. Today, however, he has a distinct wish to hold his nephews in his arms again.

The joy with which the two dwarflings greet him swipes every doubt he might have still had away in the space of a second and he spends a long time simply hugging his nephews and holding them close. He barely gets to greet the others again before Fíli and Kíli demand his full attention once more and he spends the rest of the evening with the dwarflings in his lap, telling of adventures both real and fictional and watching with a fond smile as they show him the bits of swordsmanship they have learned while he was supposedly away. Thorin feels Bilbo's eyes upon them, chiming in from time to time with bits of a story himself that his nephews are eager to listen to.

The two dwarflings both refuse to go to bed and end up falling asleep on his knees. Thorin feels a sting of pain when he realises he can't carry them to bed like he has always done at their sister's home since his one arm is still all but useless although, according to Gandalf, the bones are healing well. His sister and Balin take the two sleeping brothers and put them down in what has been Gandalf's bed so far but will be theirs for this night. Thorin sees to it that his nephews are fast asleep and properly covered with bedding before he comes out of their room again.

There's a quiet scratching at the door and Bilbo opens it, Dwalin standing in the doorway and looking expectantly at them. Thorin frowns; Dwalin usually stays away during the night when the dwarflings are close, for fear of discovery and subsequent panic.

"I called him." Bilbo says apologetically whilst the wolf pats over to Thorin and huffs at him, putting his head on his knee so Thorin can rub his fur behind his ears for him. Somehow it seems that something has changed inside Bilbo - there is a look of quiet determination on his face when he sits down on a chair opposite the three dwarves and the wolf, Gandalf standing towards the back and watching them all with an interested glint in his eyes.

Bilbo takes a deep breath before he starts talking.

"I guess you all remember the deal I made with Dwalin" he nods briefly at the wolf who makes a quiet sound in acknowledgement "when I met him for the first time after he saved me from Smaug's soldiers. I was to be offered sanctuary with your people until spring came and then I would give in to his demands to show you the secret way into Erebor through which I managed to escape."

All three dwarfs nod at his statement, recalling well the bargain that had been struck even though they had almost forgotten it over the excitement of the last few weeks. Bilbo pauses and then draws in another deep breath before he continues.

"The truth is...I have had no desire to return to Erebor for a long time." Thorin frowns at his words but he lets Bilbo talk. "The prison is something I never wanted to see again, you have to understand. And the danger of being caught a second time was simply too much. But now that I have heard and seen who you all are I don't think my conscience will let me refuse."

Thorin sits up a little straighter, hoping he had understood Bilbo's words correctly. Dwalin has lifted his head from his knee and is now staring at the hobbit, too.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm still afraid." Bilbo admits. "But I've seen and felt that I can still make a difference, despite my fear. And I know who I would be doing this for." His gaze flickers over to the door behind which Fíli and Kíli are sleeping.

"You have given me a new home and it seems only fair that I'll try and help you regain yours."

Silence is the first thing that greets his announcement, before Dís gets up and wraps the hobbit in a brief but warm embrace.

Thorin is next, standing a short distance from Bilbo and not quite knowing what to do - he doesn't have Dís' familiarity with their guest but still claims some companionship with him. In the end he simply puts a hand on Bilbo's shoulder and presses all the gratitude he has within himself into the two words:

"Thank you."

Dwalin steps up next to him, whining softly and wagging his tail. Bilbo obviously finds it easier to deal with the wolf's thanks and scratches him behind the ears, giving a slightly absent-minded smile in Dwalin's direction. Thorin knows that he and Dwalin would have had every right to hold Bilbo to his contract, even if it was only an oral one that was never written down. Neither of them, however, would have felt good about doing so, dragging the hobbit somewhere he didn't want to go out of pure selfishness. Never had he thought that the issue would solve itself so easily and he's quietly grateful for it.

"It will be quite some time until we leave though." Balin says from where he's standing and smiling at Bilbo. "You need to heal first, Thorin, or this entire venture will be much more difficult from the start."

"'We'?" Thorin asks back, being well aware that he has to recover first although his entire mind is screaming at him to start marching towards Erebor _now_.

"Yes, ' _we'_." Dís speaks up. "You cannot honestly believe, brother, that we would let you and Dwalin go on your own. Not this time." There is an old pain in her voice, the hurt at her brother leaving her when she was but a young dwarrowdam, far too young for kingship yet. Thorin has often regretted his choice back then and not only because of the curse that has been laid on him and Dwalin ever since, but foremost of all for abandoning what precious little was left of his own family. The rift it had caused back then had taken time, patience and a lot of effort on both their parts to heal.

Thorin smiles at his sister, hoping to soothe the sting.

"And who were you thinking of taking with us?"

Dís frowns, thinking about it for a moment.

"The Company shouldn't be too big or we will attract too much attention. Balin and me will definitely come with you. I think Óin and Glóin will want to come too - Óin has Bombur's oldest trained to succeed her already and I don't think she'll let us leave without a healer. I am thinking that Nori will want to come along as well and no matter what Dori says, he won't be letting his sister go on this quest all by herself. I bet Ori will also want to trail along although he's almost too young...with the others I'm not sure, although I wager Bofur certainly wouldn't be one to say no and his siblings probably neither."

"They will have to know about our secret then." Thorin says, very quietly. He doesn't quite know if this is truly what he wants. To have to let his own people know that he has been lying to some of them for over a century...it is not a thing a king should truly do, even though he had his reasons.

"Yes." Dís looks thoughtful.

"What about Fíli and Kíli?" Bilbo suddenly speaks up, having listened to the exchange between them with a frown on his face. A shadow flitters through Dís' eyes before she replies.

"If the journey goes wrong, Azog and his soldiers would come at all of us anyway and level the village to the ground. Smaug has left us in peace for the last century because we are technically beyond his borders and have made no other attempt on him, but this won't be true any longer. I'd rather give my strength and help to defeat him than being hunted down like and animal an watch my children die." Her eyes glitter with hardness when she speaks the last words and Bilbo has nothing more to object.

Thorin almost wishes he could convince her to stay - but he knows she won't. Once his sister has decided something, she will stick to it for better or worse. He just hopes that none of them will die, despite the risk and danger of such a mission. Bilbo seems to accept Dís' words and moves on to more practical concerns.

"So...when should we be leaving?"

This time it's Thorin's turn to frown. If it were his decision they would leave as soon as the sling around his arm is off and his shoulder is vaguely able to function again, but he knows he isn't the only one who has a final say in this and both Gandalf's and Óin's opinion weighs much in the matter. It isn't only his own life that will depend on his actions, but that of others, too.

"There is something you should hear in consideration of this. In fact I found some information that might be of use to you." Gandalf cuts in. Thorin has almost forgotten that he is in the same room as them since the wizard has remained suspiciously quiet throughout the entire conversation. All heads are now turning in his direction and settling expectantly upon his large frame.

"I have spent the last decade reading every piece of scripture about Smaug and the curse he threw upon the two of you that I could find. There was, unfortunately, very little in the documents about the nature of your curse itself - only once before has someone been condemned to animal form although it was centuries ago and they did not change with the cycle of the sun as you do. However, I found something else, an ancient account of another old wizard who has long since disappeared into the wild lands to live with the birds and beasts he has grown so fond of.

His account describes that Smaug has, many years ago, gambled too high in one of his games for power and was given one fatal weakness in return - for one special day in a long while he loses his powers and is nothing more than a mortal man. A dangerous man, yes, but nonetheless mortal. And I think that killing him bears the greatest chances to reverse the curse since it is his magic that he has fed into you and that binds you and as such it should disappear when he himself is no more."

Thorin is sure he isn't the only one holding his breath, praying that Gandalf's words are true.

"It cannot be." he says quietly. "Surely someone would have noticed should Smaug lose his powers, even if it is only for a day."

"And how would they have noticed?" Gandalf quirks one eyebrow at him. "It isn't like Smaug is doing magic every day - in fact he will have to take breaks from it just as any other of our race do to allow his powers to replenish themselves. I doubt that even his closest confidantes know about it for most of them he has bound to himself with fear, not loyalty. No, even if the tale is untrue, it will not worsen your chances to go on the described day."

"And which day might that be?" Balin sounds impatient with the old man's rambling even though he sometimes has a tendency to give long-winded explanations himself.

"The rare day that an eclipse occurs. Which will be on Durin's Day this year." Gandalf replies and there is a gasp amongst the dwarves present. Only Bilbo looks confused.

"Also known as the winter fest amongst the people living around the mountain." Thorin explains to Bilbo and the hobbit's face lights up. He remembers the celebrations well enough - it is one of the few days that the mountain is open for everyone. He didn't know that it was originally a dwarven holiday.

"Durin's Day always falls on the first day of the moon's last cycle in the season of autumn." Thorin continues and Bilbo frowns when he goes through the explanation in his head again, having never known the rule behind the date of the day. "Traditionally, we celebrate it as the beginning of the new year. I wonder what strange fate would have Smaug's weakness on a day of such joy for dwarves. Furthermore, I do not think he would show himself to his people on a day of such danger to him."

"Most likely because of exactly that reason - nobody would suspect him to be void of his powers if he does like he does every year on Durin's day and presents himself to the people. And according to the tale it was your Maker himself he offended although by what measure he did so I will not even dare think about. " Gandalf explains and Thorin feels a moment of awe run through him. If it was indeed a deed of their Maker...they might even stand a chance in this seemingly mad venture.

"Gandalf is right, we have nothing to lose if we aim for Durin's Day." Dís speaks up. "On the contrary, we would have the entire summer to prepare and maybe by then Azog's guard won't be so tight around us anymore. And you, brother, will have enough time to heal. You know we will need every fighter we have, no matter if dwarf or bird."

Dwalin gives a short growl and Dís laughs, patting him on the head.

"And wolves too, of course."

Thorin cannot help but reciprocate her smile, his gaze fixed on Dwalin. To be able to see him again from face to face, to touch him and feel more than just fur under his fingers...he forbids himself to dwell on it for too long, but the spark of hope that has been kindled in his heart will not so easily be extinguished. If they can but kill Smaug they might yet all be free again.

"Then we will leave a few weeks before Durin's Day." he decides and is met with approving nods from all of his companions.

*

It is like a big weight has fallen off Bilbo's chest with his announcement. He feels lighter, somehow, and fuelled by a strange energy that keeps propelling him throughout the next days. Thorin, too seems livelier now that he has a goal set in front of him and Bilbo can only hope that he takes care of himself and doesn't overdo it. The wound the bolt had left has closed by now, only a jagged scar on both the bird's and the dwarf's body reminding them of how close he had come to death. His shoulder, however, takes much longer to heal just as Gandalf has foreseen. Without his help Thorin would likely have been permanently impaired, that much is sure and the gratitude on the dwarf's face whenever the wizard checks the progress of his bones growing together again is honest and deep.

The raven becomes more adventurous by the day and is slowly turning into a true nuisance that has Dwalin rolling his eyes more often than not. However, whatever Thorin is doing, Dwalin never truly gets angry, instead taking delight in the obvious improvement of his condition although he does, from time to time, threaten him with chaining him to the crate if he doesn't stop annoying them and trying to steal food of the table. Usually Thorin croaks at such an announcement, pecking Dwalin until he relents and picks him up to pet him. Sometimes Bilbo finds it hard to imagine that the often so grave-looking dwarf and the raven are the same person.

In the beginning it was strange for him to suddenly see Dís and Thorin as royalty. Yes, both of them have an air around them as if they are used to leading people but there is, somehow, still a difference in Bilbo's mind between a leader and a king or queen even though he cannot quite put it into words. But he has always thought of royalty as people who were far away, not so close to every day folk. He only truly understands when he hears Dís laughing again that evening when they all sit together with her nephews - she has a deep, booming laugh that seems to set the candles' flames dancing with mirth itself. It is then that he sees that both her and Thorin are still the same dwarves he has gotten to know throughout the winter, their titles nothing but another addition to their names.

From then on he finds it easier again to interact with them and he quickly learns that his own friendliness is all but reciprocated. Even Thorin has become more easily accessible now, his laughter being heard more often in the hours of the evening when they all sit together, the wolf dozing and stretched out in front of the fire when he isn't out hunting meat to stock up on the supplies stored in Gandalf's pantry.

Much to his disdain Bilbo is forced to stay away from the village for the rest of the summer. Azog's soldiers are still paying them visits more often than not and his spies have remained in the settlements around them. It would bring their entire plan under threat should Bilbo come down into the settlement again. He misses his friends sorely - especially the quiet afternoons and evenings he has often spent in their company. It delights him all the more when the next visitor who comes up after Dís and Balin is Bofur, both Bombur and Bifur trailing behind him. All three of them are bringing more supplies for Gandalf that he pays for with fair coin (although Bilbo has yet to discover the source of his riches) and they are obviously delighted to see Bilbo again, much as he is himself.

They tell him about life in the village until deep into the night and this evening, Gandalf's house comes alive with laughter and the sound of Bofur's pipe. Of course Bilbo, after asking for Thorin's agreement earlier that day which the raven had granted with a nod of his head, tells of them of their plan to kill Smaug and retake Erebor, to see how they will react.

Bofur's mouth hangs open in quiet astonishment whilst Bifur is signing away so quickly that Bilbo finds it all but impossible to follow, asking Bombur to translate for him. Help comes from an unexpected side when all three are starting to voice concern over the idea - Dwalin does his best to bring them over to their side and Bilbo is surprised to see how convincing he can be. What truly convinces them in the end is that the chances to get into Erebor have never been better - they have Bilbo who knows a secret way in and Gandalf's information which should give them more advantage than they ever thought they had.

Dwalin's next move, however, surprises them. He exchanges a look with Thorin before he takes a deep breath. To Bilbo it looks almost like he's collecting his courage if this weren't _Dwalin_ they were talking about.

"There is something you need to know first." he tells them, quietly.

All three dwarrows in front of him fall silent and look at him, eyes expectant. Dwalin reaches up almost unconsciously to stroke over Thorin's back who is sitting on his shoulder before speaking again.

"Thorin and I both are not quite what it seems." He looks down at the raven, as if the bird could help him to find the right words. "You all know of the day we went to confront Azog again shortly after he had taken our home, even if you weren't of our closest kin. You also know that Thorin has rarely been appearing since then and if so, only at night. There is a reason for this - Smaug condemned us to change form at sunrise and sunset, turning into a raven and a wolf, respectively."

Dwalin points at Thorin and somehow he manages to look as regally imposing as the dwarf he is at night. Bilbo feels like both Dwalin and the bird are holding their breath before the first of the Ur-siblings reacts. Bofur's reply, however, is certainly not what they have been expecting.

"I thought so."

"You- what?" The answers seems to take Dwalin completely by surprise. Bofur grins and shrugs.

"Well, y'know, we've been living with you almost a century now and though we might not be of royal blood like your kind it doesn't mean we're dumb enough not to see what's in front of our noses. And his eyes are basically the same, aren't they?"

Silence reigns in the room for a moment before Dwalin, unexpectedly, starts laughing and slapping Bofur on the back. It doesn't take long for the rest of them to join in and the relief emanating both from the warrior and the raven is almost tangible.

"You're still our king though, Thorin, no matter what anyone else might say, right, folks?" Bofur adds and Bifur and Bombur nod fervently. This has gone a lot easier than any of them would have expected and Bilbo feels the good mood in the room getting infectious.

"So who else knows or suspects?" Dwalin wants to know.

"Well, a couple of us. I'm sure the Ris have puzzled it out by now, what with Nori and her sharp eyes. I'd be a poor example of her skills if she hadn't found out. There's a few others as well although I think none of them is truly sure. Óin and Glóin already know, right? And I'm sure your families do, too." Dwalin nods, although he mentions that especially Kíli is still too young to be trusted with such a secret yet and that, as such, they have kept it from the two young brothers so far.

After so many revelations the evening passes comfortably and fast, even the transformation proving only a short interruption. It seem liberating for both Dwalin and Thorin that they can be in the same room together with their friends and without fear of discovery or the need to hide. Thorin quietly apologizes to the three dwarrows that they had to keep what they thought was a secret to themselves for so long but Bofur simply laughs and waves his concern away with a movement of his hand. The rest of the time they spend with planning and the careful consideration of who else should be part of their little company to reclaim Erebor.

It is quickly decided that they would ask the Ri siblings as well, for both Dori's skills in sewing, Nori's quick eyes and hands and Ori's gift for meticulous observation would be of good use to them during the journey. Bilbo has never truly realised before just how big of a task it is to plan a venture like theirs and suddenly he is grateful that they have so much time left until autumn when they will be leaving. There are funds to be procured, weapons, food and other provisions to be organised. Plans have to be made where to travel and when and with how many. There is a lot more thought going into it than Bilbo would have guessed - and somehow it makes him feel safer, knowing that this is a venture which won't be undertaken lightly by anyone involved. The visits from all members of their future travelling group continue and as such, it never seems to be boring in Gandalf's house, especially when there is more than one dwarf with them.

After over a month the bandages around Thorin's shoulder finally come off. The relief on his face to be rid of the hindrance is palpable. He still winces when he tries to move his shoulder and Gandalf tells him that he cannot expect any marvels from his body, not with the added strain of transformation every night and day. It's almost a miracle that the bones have healed as well.

"Thank you." Thorin tells the wizard earnestly for he knows how much more difficult it would have been without his magic. Gandalf just nods and smiles, stroking his beard in apparent satisfaction. Thorin's arm looks strange now that he hasn't used it in a while, much of the muscle that was lining it beforehand having disappeared and his hand starts trembling when he tries to hold his weapon in a firm grasp.

"You should take it slow in the beginning." Gandalf advises him softly and Thorin scowls at him. His annoyance, however, is not so much with the wizard but more himself, that much is plain. Dwalin growls slightly and nips him in the finger to quell Thorin's beginning anger at himself. With a sigh the dwarf rubs the wolf's head quickly and continues to flex his fingers and his muscles, ignoring the pain that it has to be causing him. At least he keeps silent about his dissatisfaction although Bilbo can still see it simmering inside him. Gandalf sighs like an exasperated parent and buries himself in his scriptures again, knowing that there is nothing he could do or say that would truly make it easier for Thorin.

The next morning the raven is eager to try out his healed wing although Dwalin insists on doing it in the safety of Gandalf's house first, sitting in the armchair and watching as Thorin experimentally flaps both of his wings before he starts his first serious try to fly. It goes about as wrong as is to be expected with his muscles being much weaker in one side than the other - after only a moment in the air he teeters and almost crashes to the ground, only saved by another few hasty flaps of his wings that at least lead him not to injure himself again.

Bilbo has to bite his tongue in order not to laugh. He knows it's no laughing matter and that Thorin's pride is severely wounded, but even Dwalin seems to be unable to hide a smile as he scoops up his partner from the floor and softly shushes his cries of anger and frustration.

"Patience, Thorin, patience. Remember how often you told me the same when I broke a leg after the fall down the landslide? Hurry won't help, it'll just make it worse. We have more than enough time until Durin's Day for you to be regaining strength."

Once again Bilbo marvels at how soft Dwalin's voice seems to become when he talks to Thorin and how the words seem to flow out of him so freely all of a sudden. The raven croaks, obviously still unhappy, but he lets Dwalin stroke the feathers on his back and presses into the touch of his hand.

It takes weeks for him to regain anything resembling his former strength and form and he keeps practising with determined fervour, often late into the night. Sometimes Bilbo watches him go through the movements with a sword or axe over and over again, eyes closed in concentration and listening to everything his body is telling him. Now that he knows that the dwarf is a raven by day he almost think he can see the resemblance - how the line of Thorin's nose slightly resembles the raven's beak and his finger nails, like Dwalin's are just a thought longer than they ought to be. The silver streaks in his hair as well, which are echoed in the colour of the raven's plumage on his neck.

Dwalin is watching him, too, when he isn't hunting or roaming the forest and Bilbo wonders what might be going through his head. Part of it becomes clear soon when Dwalin announces that he and Thorin will leave them and return to their own home to spend the rest of the spring and summer there now that Thorin is healed. It's clear that the two of them have been longing for more moments to spend with just the two of them and also that they have a desire to be a little closer to the village should anything happen and their fighting skills be required again.

Bilbo opts to stay with Gandalf - he and the old man have become true friends during the last few weeks and he especially enjoys the wide range of books the wizard keeps in his house. Maybe, if he helps Gandalf to sort through them he might even find more useful information about the one they will set out to kill on Durin's Day. Other dwarves are still coming to visit him and Dwalin assures him that it will likely stay this way - he and Thorin, as well, will come over from time to time even though mostly in their animal forms. Bilbo is worried that their way back to their own home will lead them too closely past the village but Dwalin reassures them that they will use other, more hidden tracks from their own house to Gandalf's place which increase the length of the journey with several hours but also mean that they will both be safe, especially Thorin who isn't well enough yet to be able to fly long distances on his own.

On the night before the two dwarves are leaving Bilbo dares to ask Thorin what he has been wondering about all the time since he has first witnessed the sounds of their transformation. He isn't sure how to broach the topic because he knows how private they are about personal matters - but the issue won't leave his mind and so he finally takes together all the courage he has and asks.

"Thorin, if you don't mind...what is the change like?" Thorin frowns at him, clearly unhappy with the question and Bilbo almost bites his tongue, wishing he could take back his words. Instead he forges on.

"It is only because-, well I'm asking because I was wondering if nothing could dim the pain you two seem to be feeling. I found some old recipes for good painkillers in the scriptures and thought they might be of use to you."

Suddenly there is the hint of a smile on Thorin's face at Bilbo's last words and his expression softens.

"It is hard to describe, Master Baggins. But yes, you were quite right, the process is not without pain since we feel every second and movement of the change. We thought we would get used to it once we were older, but somehow age seems to make our bodies even more reluctant to the transformation and the pain is getting larger instead. You can trust me that we have tried most remedies already - a hundred years is a very long time to experiment, after all. Most of them had none or very little effect, some even resulted in the opposite, amplifying the pain. I know your words are kindly meant but no, I'm afraid you can't help us. And if our journey should succeed you won't have to, either."

"Ah." Bilbo is slightly stricken by what he has heard and somewhere there is a heavy weight in his gut when he thinks about what Thorin has just told him. It only serves to increase his determination to truly see this story brought to an end, to bring down the one responsible for everything.

Thorin gives him another quick smile and squeezes his shoulder before he heads over to where Gandalf is sitting to discuss with him the rest of the arrangements that need to be made before he is leaving with Dwalin tomorrow and all that has to be done in their absence from here.

*

The summer days, although often slow and seemingly endless, seem to pass with incredible speed and ere Bilbo is sure of what is happening it is autumn already and the day of their departure is close. Rarely anybody seems to have time to visit Bilbo and Gandalf in the last few days before the start of their quest, being busy with the last bit of preparations. Somewhere in one of the many boxes and chests in Gandalf's home Bilbo has found a nice leather rucksack and a walking stick that he will take with him. When he is packing he once again realises how few personal things he truly possesses and doesn't know whether he should be grateful or sad.

There are still the odd little bits and bobs he has acquired over the past few months - a few books Balin had given him to keep for himself, a small piece of wood that was whittled with little expertise but all the more love by Fíli for him, a little box for his pipeweed that Bifur made. He used to have a small locket with his parents' portraits in it but it had been taken away from him when they had thrown him in prison. Small mementos of his time with the dwarves is all that he has now and he treasures each and every one of them, carefully putting them into the bottom of his rucksack before piling the rest of what he wants to carry on top. He leaves half of it empty, knowing that he will have to take some of the communal luggage as well.

Gandalf and him are met after sundown by Dwalin, who expertly guides them the way down the mountainside and through the forest to the village. They are lucky and the light of the waning moon illuminates their way, saving them the use of lanterns which would make them much more visible to any prying eyes. Gandalf heads off to do his own business before the sun rises but Thorin meets them at his sister's house, a look of almost feverish excitement gleaming in his eyes that they will finally leave. It is obvious that Dwalin is agitated as well - the wolf hardly lies down to rest but is everywhere at once, nosing around in their packs and provisions until Dís tells him off and warns them all to be quiet or they would be waking her sons who are already fast asleep so late in the night.

The content of the packs is quickly explained to Bilbo and he doesn't hesitate to agree to carrying some of the cooking implements and, of course, his own bedroll. Apparently Dori has made more clothes for him which he accepts gratefully - as well as the little dagger Dís presents him with, made by her own hands and a counterpart to the sword that he is wearing slung around his hips now. He accepts it with a grateful smile and an embrace and almost feels his eyes well up when Balin gives him another book from his collection as a present, this one an old account about hobbit tales and folklore, beautifully illustrated and so very much like the book that his father always read him from and that was lost in the burning flames of their home like so many other things.

Bilbo carefully packs his new gifts and when he looks up, Thorin is standing next to him. The hobbit's eyes fall on a chord hanging around Thorin's neck and something hidden underneath his shirt. Noticing his gaze, Thorin smiles and pulls up the cord, showing him the roughly whittled figure of a raven at the end of it, painted all black but with a few splashed of grey on the back of its neck and two blue dots for its eyes.

"My nephews gave it to me this evening, as a good luck charm for the journey." Thorin explains and there is warm fondness in his eyes and voice. "Fíli did the whittling and Kíli painted it, although according to Dís he got more paint on himself and the table than the wood."

He exchanges a glance with Dís who looks slightly pained at the mention of her boys, but nonetheless determined.

"We told them a few weeks ago." Dís says quietly. "Fíli had taken to asking me many questions about Thorin and Durin and why the raven was only there at day and his uncle only at night, although he seemed to know everything that happened throughout the day. We couldn't keep it from them any longer and they had every right to know, especially should we not return. They have to understand why we are leaving and why they cannot come with us."

The glimmer of sadness in her eyes tells Bilbo that the conversation had not been all happiness. Thorin briefly puts his arm around his sister's shoulders and squeezes her before tucking the raven back under his shirt again and going through their packs once more.

Dwalin comes walking up to Bilbo and stretches out his head so that the hobbit can see the cord knotted tightly around his neck and the tiny wolf, made in similar fashion to Thorin's raven, dangling from the leather.

"They made you one too?" Bilbo asks him and Dwalin nods, his jaws dropping open in a grin. The hobbit smiles at his expression and the gesture of the little dwarflings. It occurs to him that he has never asked the significance of Dwalin's earring but something tells him that it has to do with Thorin. Maybe one day they will tell him. For now, he turns around to Dís again.

"How did your sons react when you told them about Dwalin and Thorin?"

"They understood surprisingly quickly." Dís smiles slightly at the memory. "Kíli just kept jumping up and down and asking whether he could call Durin Thorin now and insisted that his uncle tell him everything about what it is like to fly. Fíli seemed to be more fascinated by the curse itself and that his uncle and Dwalin went to fight Smaug before - those days were rarely talked about in our house and he was eager to hear more about it. Both of them, I think, were rather enthusiastic about petting Dwalin and if I didn't know better I'd have sworn we had a dog in our house, not a wolf from the way he was rolling around on the floor trying to amuse them."

It sounds a lot like Thorin's nephews indeed and for a moment Bilbo's heart aches when he remembers that the two dwarflings might not ever see the rest of their family again. But that is why he's here, is it not? To help ensure that such a tragedy won't come to pass. Bilbo quietly swears to himself that he will do his best.

Dwalin huffs indignantly at Dís' comment and walks over to Thorin who grins at the wolf.

"My sister was right. Let's see, maybe if I train you correctly we could play fetch with them one day and I could teach you to collect firewood for me or-"

Dwalin growls and playfully naps at Thorin's shirt with his teeth. Thorin laughs again and for a minute they are both wrestling on the ground, much to Dís', Balin's and Bilbo's amusement. The dwarven king seems almost decades younger then despite the beginning grey in his hair and beard, as if the laughter had taken the years off his face.

After another half hour of discussions about packs and weight distribution Thorin tells them all to go to bed and catch all the sleep they can before sunrise. It will be a long day tomorrow and during all the days that come afterwards and they will need what little rest they can get even though it is likely that none of them will sleep much.

The next morning comes much too early although Bilbo is grateful that he didn't hear Thorin and Dwalin slip out of the house shortly before sunrise to change somewhere where the sounds of it won't disturb anyone. They are all ready to go and assembled in the main square of the village in a surprisingly short time. Together with Gandalf and Bilbo they are fourteen companions and they make an impressive array, all of them adorned with various packs and weapons.

The entire village has come to say goodbye and all the good luck wishes seem to come from heart. Fíli and Kíli are standing close to Rúna together with hers and Bombur's children, trying to be brave in the face of their mother's and uncle's departure although the facade wavers when Dís promises them to be back as soon as she can and take them all to Erebor with her. Fíli presents her with a charm much like Dwalin's and Thorin's that he made her - it is fashioned after a bear and Dís eyes are suspiciously wet when she puts the cord around her neck. Bilbo spies Thorin's charm around Dwalin's neck, the raven himself sitting on the dwarf's shoulder and looking pleased. None of the rest of the company are left without good luck charms either, not even Bilbo or Gandalf. Apparently the children have all gotten together, fashioning and painting wooden beads to the best of their ability and putting them on cords so that by the end all members of their travelling group are all adorned with one.

Since Fíli is yet too young to rule in Thorin's and especially Dís' stead, Glóin's wife Ása has taken over the responsibility from them in the mean time. She is quiet but has keen eyes and a steadiness in her that the other dwarrows will follow and respect, that much is sure for Bilbo. She will make a good ruler for the time until they return. He forces himself not think about what would happen if they didn't.

The sun has risen quite some distance over the horizon when they are finally off. Bilbo takes a deep breath before he steps out onto the path, his walking stick clutched firmly in his right. _Everything will be fine_ , he tells himself. Everything will be fine. _Let the adventure begin_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for leaving Fili and Kili behind on the quest. I thought it might be an interesting setup to have Dis instead ;).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning for presumed animal death in this chapter.
> 
> (And some good old Dwarf-Elf animosity.)

Precious little happens during their first few days of travel. The weather is surprisingly good and Balin is already joking that summer has decided to pay them one last visit before it gives way to autumn, as if it wanted to bolster their spirits. Whether the good weather is intentional or not, the entire company is in a markedly good mood, even Dwalin and Thorin who seem to be much more at ease now that everyone around them knows who they truly are. They are taking it upon themselves to keep scouting out the surrounding areas at day and night in their animal forms to look for any eventual spies of Smaug's or Azog's, but so far they have found nothing and no one. Nonetheless, the company is keeping off the main roads to avoid any unwanted attention.

There isn't much that can be kept private when travelling for so long and so closely with so many and it takes a while for Bilbo to adapt to it. There is only one thing that truly remains secret and it is Dwalin's and Thorin's transformations. They always disappear shortly before it happens and if there are faint screams on the wind sometimes everybody pretends not to hear them. Somehow Bilbo starts to cherish the closeness between the members of the company although at times he still longs for quiet moments belonging only to himself and to his books. There is always someone to look after the other and they are all taking care of each other under Óin's watchful eyes, looking out for signs of illness, hurt or simple unhappiness. This is more than just a group of travellers, it is a group of friends in which Bilbo is included without complaint. Gandalf is the only one who keeps himself separate at times, venturing out on his own business but always extending a helpful hand or thought when needed.

They pass the evenings with tales around the fire and Bilbo is delighted to hear many of the dwarven legends he has read about in Balin's library come to life with the voices of the dwarves around him. There is also much more mischief than he ever thought there would be in both Dwalin and Thorin - to hooting laughter one day over lunch Dwalin recounts a story of how they had both found themselves short of coin and, being far enough away from Erebor and Smaug's ears had decided to have Thorin perform tricks under Dwalin's command to gather an audience and coax some coins out of them. Thorin refuses to show any of those tricks again despite his sister's begging and he promptly repays Dwalin with a rather similar story that evening in which he had pretended to have a well-trained dog at an inn one night to earn them some additional money. Dwalin actually takes a swipe with his paw aimed at Thorin's face for sharing this story but Thorin just evades it laughing until the wolf gives an insulted huff and walks away into the forest to go hunting. Bofur has brought his flute and often enough he gets it out in the evenings as well, the dwarves singing along to his play and teaching Bilbo many a new song over the days.

The merriment, however, doesn't last forever. Soon they get to more crowded areas where it is harder to avoid all villages and roads. There is only one method which Balin suggests and that everyone can support - they will have to split up. In the end they agree to form five different groups: Bilbo will go with Balin and Dís, the Ur siblings as well as the Ri siblings will each form separate teams and Óin, Glóin and Gandalf will make up the fourth group. Thorin and Dwalin will remain a duo as they have always been and act as a go-between between the different groups to keep everyone informed and on the same page.

Dwalin draws out plans of the surrounding area he has scouted out with Thorin's help and hands each of the maps over to one of the groups so that they know where to go. They all agree to reconvene in empty patches between settlements whenever it is possible and Dwalin marks the first of those places that he knows of, a large stretch of forest that represents the very edges of Mirkwood flanked by mountains to one side which, according to Dwalin, contain several caves that are perfect for hiding and waiting in until they have all reassembled again.

Balin and Dís are as much a pleasant travelling company as Bilbo thought they would be. The bond between them grows ever stronger and they spend most of their time in animated conversation about all kinds of topics ranging from dwarven lore to the question which plants would make the best dyes. Even the rain that has now started doesn't truly damp their spirits although Bilbo discovers that being wet is easily his least favourite part of going on a quest like this so far. They debate whether they should be spending some evenings in inns as they know most of the other groups apart from Dwalin and Thorin will do, likely disguised as travelling merchants which aren't uncommon in these parts. In the end they decide against it, for taking Bilbo with them is simply too risky - although hobbits are known in this part of the country they have crossed over the borders to Smaug's lands now and it isn't unlikely that there is still an order out for Bilbo's capture. Dwarves normally rarely mix with other folk so having a hobbit and two dwarves travel together would be too suspicious and likely garner too much attention - and they cannot afford any, not if they want to reach Erebor and the surrounding settlements unharmed.

The forest of Mirkwood somehow feels different to the hobbit, darker and more dangerous, than the forest around the dwarves' village and suddenly Bilbo is glad that they will only spend a few days traversing the forest. The dwarves seem to share his sentiment and Balin explains quietly that the hunters living in the forests are elves, beings that seem to be connected to the trees and who not even Smaug would cross lightly which is why they have remained relatively undisturbed throughout the years. They would be faster on their journey if they would walk straight through Mirkwood but Thorin and the others prefer a week's delay to accidentally meeting the inhabitants of the forest that none of them harbours any great love for.

When Bilbo and his two companions finally reach the cave they find that Dwalin and Thorin are already there, used to travelling and walking long distances as they are. Óin, Glóin arrive not much later and Bifur, Bofur and Bombur in the morning of the next day. The old healer tells them that Gandalf has separated from them and will meet them again soon after he is done with his business. The first inkling of nervousness begins to spread throughout the group when the sun is high on the sky at midday and the Ri siblings still haven't appeared. Thorin has flown out a few times to search for them but they are not on any of the main paths towards the cage and it is difficult to survey the entire forest around them from the air, made up from dense trees as it is. Bofur makes a half-hearted joke that it's probably only because Dori and Nori got into an argument again or Ori found a book somewhere that he couldn't just walk past, but as the afternoon draws on even his good mood subsides and the group grows quiet, anxiously waiting for the dwarrows to join them.

Night comes again and the three siblings still haven't arrived. The rain has turned into drizzle by now, putting a layer of dampness over everything and making the air seem chilled. Despite the danger of it they decide to light a fire in the relative dryness of the cave - both to warm themselves and get hot food into their bellies and to serve as an orientation point for Dori, Nori and Ori should they arrive soon. Without comment Dwalin heads off between the trees right after the meal to search for the three missing dwarves, Thorin's worried eyes following him until the wet darkness has swallowed the wolf's form.

Nobody is able to sleep for now, faces pinched tight with worry and all of them on edge should there be any signal out of the forest that something has happened. However, time draws on and on and still there's no sign - neither of the missing dwarves nor of the wolf. Thorin is anxious and neither his sister nor Balin can truly calm him down as he paces up and down at the entrance of the cave, eyes constantly trained into the darkness outside.

The relief that surges through the company when there is a movement and a lone figure emerges slowly from the darkness is palpable. However, it lasts only for a moment before they see what Ori carries in his arms. Thorin cries out, a low and wounded sound that chills them all to the bone and a second later Bilbo can see why: what the young dwarf holds in his trembling arms is the pelt of a brown and grey wolf stained with fresh blood and, on top of it, a golden earring with red splashes on it.

Ori is clearly terrified, his clothes ripped and a bloody scratch across his cheek as well as a hap-hazardly bound wound on his upper arm. He clearly comes straight out of a fight, but none of that seems to matter to Thorin who keeps staring at the wolf's pelt that the young dwarrow is carrying.

"No." he whispers. And then, more loudly: "No. NO. NO!"

Ori's entire body is trembling now, his fingers clenched in the fur draped across his arms.

"Bolg, son of Azog sends this. You're supposed to meet him at the waterfall next to Ylara's cave and come alone or he will slaughter my siblings, too." His voice is shaky and his eyes wide, looking at Thorin as if he fears the king will tear him apart where he's standing.

Thorin steps forward and takes first the earring, then the pelt with shivering fingers. The other dwarrows are too shocked to say anything, only Balin puts a hand on Thorin's shoulder, both in support and as if to keep himself from falling.

Dís steps up to the two of them, reaching out as if to touch the pelt although her fingers stop an inch away from it.

"It might not even be Dwalin's, Thorin." she says quietly. "There are lots of wolves with his colouring, you know that. Bolg is only trying to rile you up so you'll forget yourself in anger and-"

"The earring." Thorin interrupts her quietly, his voice rough and his eyes shimmering wet. "It's Dwalin's. I forged it with my own hands, I would recognise it anywhere. It was my courting gift before-"

Another shiver runs through his body and his voice breaks.

"He would never part from it willingly." he finally whispers and for a moment Bilbo can hear all the pain bleeding through. His own heart is heavy and he is still in shock, unable to believe what he has just heard.

With a movement as if he were putting a child to bed Thorin folds up the pelt and sets it on the ground atop his pack where it won't be stained by dirt. He runs his fingers through the fur again and again, almost lovingly, before he pockets the small golden earring. When he looks up his face is filled with terrible emptiness, a sight somehow much worse than any rage would be.

"Take care of Ori and bind his wounds. Balin..." his voice falters and without another word he draws the older dwarf closer to him, their foreheads touching. Bilbo can see tears glistening on Balin's face as he mourns both his brother and his king.

"I will bring your brother and sister back, Ori." Thorin promises and the young dwarf can do nothing but nod, his face still frozen in shock. Thorin's voice is pure ice now, every emotion banished from it.

Dís sets a hand on his arm when he turns around to go out into the night, sword in one hand and a torch in the other.

"You can't go Thorin, we need you. Bolg will kill you, you know he will." Dís' voice is trembling slightly. Thorin's movement with which he sets the torch aside and peels her fingers from his arm is unexpectedly gentle. "He cannot do any worse to me than he already has. Promise me to continue on our journey as soon as Dori and Nori are back and to lead the company in my stead."

He softly kisses her fingers before she can answer and gives her one last look, then he picks up the torch and heads out into the night without looking back.

*

Thorin feels terribly cold. He knows there should be rage rushing through him right now, anger consuming his soul and sending fire through his veins, but instead there is nothing, just a cold, grey emptiness where his heart once was.

Dwalin is dead.

A voice whispers it over and over again in his head and yet he somehow seems to be unable to grasp the concept, the golden earring that had been his first gift to his partner heavy in his pocket. He still remembers the night he gave it to Dwalin, forged in the first months of their exile and made by melting down some jewellery of his own he'd had on him when they had fled Erebor. He had wanted the first thing he made after the fall to be a work of love, to prove himself that there were still things worth living for even when his home and most of his family were all but gone.

Dwalin's grey eyes had been shining warmly in the light of the candle, the only light source they had been able to afford at the times. The grip of his fingers in his hair had been soft and the touch of his lips even more gentle and it had promised so much more. They had discovered so much in the following months, about themselves and about each other, and it had been nothing short of a miracle and joy, the only thing despite his sister's smile that had truly kept Thorin going through the days of darkness, cold and hunger for his folk.

And now he is gone and Thorin thinks that surely, his body must stop functioning at any moment. There is a strange, singular focus in his mind and all that he knows now is that he has to get Dori and Nori out safely, has to give Ori his siblings back so that no more hearts will be broken tonight.

He knows where Ylara's cave is, has been there often enough before with Dwalin and suddenly he shudders to think about how Bolg might have come to know of it. It isn't far from the place they are at now and he wonders if Bolg has done it on purpose, has been aware that they were so close. It is no secret that the Azog and his son have been killing wolves all over the country and Bolg is apparently one of the best wolf hunters they have. Thorin has always believed that Dwalin was too good, too cunning for him to ever be caught, but something must have happened. Maybe Bolg lured him in with the captured dwarrows or provoked him in any other way - the result is the same.

 _Dead_ , it echoes in his mind. _Dead, dead, dead_.

Maybe he will allow himself to mourn later, when Bolg is dead too. Somehow, however, he knows that even if he survives this night, he still won't be whole anymore come morning.

The flame of the torch hisses and sputters whenever raindrops are hitting it and he hopes the light won't go out before he arrives at the little waterfall near the cave. Bolg is already waiting for him there and Thorin shudders when he sees the wolf traps on the ground, many of them with old blood dried on their rusty metal teeth. Distantly he wonders whether any of it might be Dwalin's, but then he hears a muffled noise and his gaze is being diverted to the wall of the nearby cave. Dori and Nori are both there, hands and feet bound and both gagged. Nori has a deep gash on her forehead from which blood has trickled halfway down her face and Dori's shoulder is stained with blood. They both look alive though, and Thorin breathes a quiet sigh of relief when he sees it.

Bolg is standing in front of them, a mace not unlike that of his father's in his hands and watching Thorin with a grin on his face.

"I'm here." Thorin tells him, his voice deadly quiet. "Release them."

"Not so fast, Oakenshield." Bolg snarls and takes a step towards him. "How do I know the rest of your misbegotten kin isn't hiding somewhere close?"

"Because they aren't." Thorin's tone is still measured, almost civil and he idly wonders about himself. Normally his blood would be boiling with rage by now, but there is still only a dark hole inside him that seems to drown all emotion. He lifts his torch higher so that it lights the surrounding trees, showing clearly that here's no one else there but him. "Let them go."

Bolg hesitates again but then he seems to sense that Thorin will refuse to fight until the two dwarrows are free. Thorin knows him, knows that what Bolg truly wants is a fight to the death with him and so he waits, hoping the promise of a fight with him will be enough to let Bolg keep to the bargain. The orc finally seems to make up his mind, cutting through the bonds around Nori's and Dori's hands and feet with a few sweeps of a dagger that has suddenly appeared in his hand. He pulls them upright and roughly shoves them into Thorin's direction, not bothering to remove their gags.

They stumble more than they walk, their limbs surely numb from the long time of sitting with tight bonds, although both are fumbling on their gags already, Nori ripping hers off before she reaches Thorin.

"Take the torch and go to the cave. It isn't far, just follow the path over there. And don't return, do you understand? Go and _do not return_." Thorin tells them both, his voice firm and clear and devoid of any emotion.

Nori looks at him with wide eyes, then whirls around on her unsteady feet so she is standing next to him, facing Bolg.

"I will fight."

"No, you won't." Thorin puts all the authority in his voice that he can muster, making clear that this an order, not a request. "I promised Ori that you would come back to him safely. _Go_."

Nori still hesitates although she has no weapon and is unsteady on her feet as a result from both her head wound and that she and her brother have been bound for so long. Dori puts a hand on her shoulder and turns her around, a pleading look in his eyes.

"We can't help, Nori." he tells her with an apologetic glance at Thorin and starts to push her softly in the direction of the path Thorin has pointed out to them. "Come on."

Dori's voice is gentle, so unlike most of the times when he and his sister are arguing again and with an angry glance Nori pulls her shoulder out of his grip and starts down the path, Thorin's torch firmly in her hand.

Thorin's gaze follows them until he can be sure that they are indeed gone and not hiding somewhere close by to come out at the worst possible moment and try to help him. He grips his sword a little more tightly as he steps closer to Bolg, refusing to shy away from the orc's gaze. The anticipation in Bolg's face is plain - this is a fight he has been longing for for a long time. Thorin closes his hand around Dwalin's earring and quietly promises him that he will not go down without honour. If fate will have both of them die today then he will take Bolg with him, he owes Dwalin at least that much.

Bolg doesn't waste much time on taunting him or setting up their fight - he is a being of deeds, not words. Instead he simply attacks him with a roar, mace in one hand and dagger in the other. His first swing with the mace would have caught Thorin in the head if he hadn't stepped back quickly. His own sword raised Thorin follows up with a quick leap to the right and a thrust towards Azog's side, only to have it blocked by the dagger the orc is still carrying.

He steps to the side again, quick enough to evade the second swing of Bolg's mace that comes down on him in a great arch. Thorin's thoughts are racing, everything else banned to the edges of his mind. Somehow he has to rid Bolg of one of his weapons or the orc will sooner or later get lucky, even if by virtue of his sheer size and strength alone. As he is thinking they are circling one another, looking for an opening and it doesn't take long for Bolg to jump at him again, dagger held out in front of him and his mace coming around to where Thorin would normally step to avoid the blade. Instead, however, Thorin blocks the dagger with his sword and leans against it, accepting its deep bite into his upper arm so that he can twist his sword around and bury it in Bolg's hand which forces him to let go of his weapon.

With roar the orc swings his mace back and Thorin can feel it swishing past his face as he steps back to avoid getting his head crushed. His short retreat, however, quickly turns into a stumble as his footing is suddenly uneven when he almost steps into one of Bolg's wolf traps and narrowly avoids his foot getting caught in it. There is a flash of victory in Bolg's eyes and he jumps after him, his mace coming dangerously close to caving in Thorin's chest. He throws himself to the side and rolls over his shoulder, lurching to his feet again. He sweeps in close whilst Bolg is trying to stop and re-direct the momentum of his mace and aims a blow of his sword at the orc's chest. Bolg is fast, however, faster than Thorin thought he would be and steps back and again Thorin has to duck to avoid the mace.

They continue to dance like this for a while, back and forth, dealing and trading blows. Thorin even lands a few but Bolg seems to be unfazed by the wounds, just as Thorin tries to ignore the two more shallow cuts that Bolg has given him. He feels himself tiring slowly but surely - more than half of the night has passed already and he has slept nothing since sunrise and not much the night before either. The shoulder that Azog had wounded in spring is screaming at him now although he doggedly ignores it for the moment. Slowly but surely, however, he finds himself pushed more and more into the defensive and it is harder each time to find the strength to lift his sword again.

Bolg's eyes light up when he notices the creeping weakness in Thorin's body and with another roar he puts all his strength into his next blows. Thorin clenches his teeth and mobilises all his remaining strength, determined not go down. He blocks Azog's mace directly even though his body protests more loudly with each passing moment and with his focus on the orc's weapon he notices too late that Bolg is turning slightly and aiming a kick at his hurting shoulder.

The orc's heavy boot connects with the thin layer fabric over his shoulder and for a moment, pure pain flashes through him, destroying all other thought. The strength of it sends Thorin flying and crashing into the next tree, the impact hammering all the breath out of his lungs. He has retained the grip on his sword with a few fingers but somehow he is too dazed, his body not functioning correctly and so he is unable to bring it up again when Bolg is stalking towards him, teeth bared in a victorious leer.

" _I'm sorry, Dwalin_." he thinks, tasting blood on his tongue as the orc lifts his mace to end his life once and for all. For some reason he is absurdly grateful that his existence should end the same night as the one of his partner. He refuses to close his eyes in face of the incoming blow but keeps them trained at Bolg's face with every last scrap of strength he can muster, determined to go to the afterlife with all the dignity he still possesses. He will not cower or tremble, but meet his fate head on.

There is a growl somewhere to his left and suddenly a shadow emerges from the forest to jump at Bolg's throat with a snarl. The image in front of Thorin's eyes begins to blur and the next moments are nothing but a haze when the tension suddenly drains from his body. Bolg is fighting against whatever has attacked but somehow Thorin's mind cannot comprehend who or what it is.

"Thorin!" Someone is calling his name and suddenly there are voices around him, a hand shaking him. It takes him a lot of effort but finally he forces his gaze to focus and looks into Bilbo's worried face hovering directly above him.

"Master Baggins." he forces out. Then the fog in his head starts to clear and he tries to sit up, ignoring Bilbo's worried attempts at keeping him down. The world is still spinning around him and his shoulder and head feel like they are both on fire, but at least he can move again.

"Didn't I tell you all to remain at the cave? What-"

He stops mid-sentence when he sees just who it was that had saved his life in attacking Bolg. The animal is clinging to the shoulder of the orc's mace arm, teeth digging deeply into his flesh and its eyes, _grey eyes_ , brimming with fury. The wolf is unmistakeable and yet Thorin cannot believe what he sees.

"Dwalin?" he whispers, hope bubbling through the blackened ash in his soul.

"Yes, Thorin, yes. He's alive." Bilbo tells him with such obvious relief in his voice that Thorin has to believe him, has to trust his eyes and ears that tell him that this isn't a vision of his dying mind but reality.

The other dwarrows - Thorin recognises Dís and Balin amongst them now, as well as Glóin, Bombur and Bifur - have all brandished their weapons, hacking at every bit of skin that Bolg exposes in his fight with Dwalin.

"I need to help." With a groan Thorin pushes himself off the ground, trying to ignore various aches racing through him at every movement. His family and friends need him. Bilbo sets a hand on his shoulder as if to try and push him back down again.

"Shouldn't you remain sitting? You look injured."

"I'm fine, Master Baggins." Thorin grates out between his teeth in an effort not to groan in pain. He struggles upright and Bilbo finally sees that there's no point in holding him back, not when he's so determined to do what he's doing.

Thorin waits until the world has stopped going around in circles and then staggers over to the other dwarrows, sword gripped firmly in his hand. Dís and Balin both flash him looks in which worry is warring with relief, but they don't object to his joining the fight. Bolg roars angrily when he sees that Thorin is back on his feet again and doubles his efforts to be rid of them all.

The orc finally manages to sweep Dwalin off his shoulder but the wolf doesn't take any serious harm, bouncing back on his legs and jumping directly at Bolg's throat again. A last surge of strength rushes through Thorin at the sight and he throws himself at Bolg, ignoring the protests of his battered body, the surety to have his partner by his side again propelling him forward. He bellows out a curse in Khuzdul to his friends and can hear his cry being taken up behind him by all of them, even Bilbo. Together they manage to push Bolg back under their combined assault until the orc stumbles and falls backwards, in a movement eerily similar to Thorin's earlier.

There is a snapping sound and a gargled scream and when Thorin walks forward to finish their foe's life he sees that his own devices have become the hunter's end. In his fall his throat has been wedged in one of his wolf traps and the iron teeth of it are digging deeply into his skin now, blood spurting out of the wounds and running down his throat. Bolg's body convulses and his arms make feeble movements when Thorin leans over him, locking his gaze with his as he plunges his sword deep into the orc's chest. Bolg might have brought them nothing but grief but still Thorin would cut short his agony. Dwalin is with him again and so he has no interest in watching their enemy suffer any further.

Bolg shudders again and then his body lies still, his blood glistening dark in the night as it slowly spreads on the ground beneath him. Thorin wrenches his sword out of his body and stumbles a few feet away before he falls onto his knees to the ground, a wave of terrible tiredness surging through him. Dwalin is next to him within moments, whining softly and all the Thorin can manage is to lean his forehead on the wolf's and embrace him, pulling his warm, _living_ body as close as he can. Dwalin whines again and a shudder runs through his body, his wet nose pressing into Thorin's cheek.

"I thought you were dead." Thorin murmurs the words into his fur and speaking them aloud somehow helps to dissipate the last remnants of fear and emptiness still lodged in his heart. Dwalin presses closer to him and licks his cheek, in wordless reassurance that no he isn't, he's right here with Thorin.

After what seems like much too short a moment Thorin lift his head again so he can meet Dwalin's gaze and can look the wolf over for any injuries. There seems to be nothing major, only a few scratches - apart from the ear where his earring used to be. There is a deep and ragged wound in it and when Thorin tries to touch it to examine it more closely Dwalin yelps and steps back.

"Hold still." Thorin murmurs. "I need to see how bad it is."

It isn't a nice wound - the flesh looks like the earring has been forcefully torn out of it and Thorin shudders when he thinks how this could have happened. He rummages in his pocket until his fingers close around the golden earring again and he shows it to Dwalin, smiling when the wolf's eyes widen slightly in surprise. Thorin doesn't tell him how it had come to be in his possession, what ploy Bolg has used to make him think that Dwalin was dead. There is no need to speak to him of such things, not now when he is safely in his arms again.

"We should get back to the others to get this cleaned." Thorin tells Dwalin and uses the opportunity softly card his hand through the wolf's fur again.

When he stands up he still feels slightly unsteady on his feet but ignores the feeling as he turns around to the rest of the group. Dís comes over to him first, hugging her brother tightly before quickly looking him over for injuries.

"You look terrible." she tells him quietly. Thorin gives her a tired little smile, musing that she's probably right. He should be angry at them for ignoring his order and coming to his help - but then he knows he would have done the same for any of them.

"I'll be fine after I've had some sleep." he replies. Dís looks at him as if she doesn't quite believe his words, but doesn't make any other comment either. He sighs and tiredly rubs his forehead. "We should get back to the cave. Are Ori and his siblings alright?"

"They are." Balin nods with satisfaction. "Óin and Bofur had a hard time keeping them from following us when we decided to come to your aid. A good night's sleep and they should be mostly fine, although young Ori only stopped trembling once Dwalin came running into the camp."

Thorin looks down to the wolf who is pressed against his legs now and absent-mindedly reaches down to rub the fur on Dwalin's head.

"He came running into the camp?"

"Not long after Dori and Nori had returned, yes. When we told him that you had gone off to fight Bolg on your own he looked like was about to tear our throats out for it." There is a soft growl from Dwalin at his brother's words and Thorin smiles, his hand never stopping its movement in Dwalin's fur. Balin shrugs. "We came to help you as fast as we could."

Thorin looks at Bolg's corpse and cannot help but be grateful for their help. He would likely be dead otherwise, as hard as it is for him to admit to it. Dwalin stays at his side for the entire time on the way back, so close that they are almost touching and his weight pressing against Thorin's leg is more reassuring than any words could ever be.

Their return to the camp is greeted with obvious relief. It is almost a miracle that none of them have come to any greater harm. Óin cleans and binds his cuts, clucking her tongue as soon as she sees his injuries and murmuring something about 'stubborn kings' whilst she's working on him. His shoulder is thankfully only bruised and not broken again, the hard and heavy dwarven bones having withstood the violence of Bolg's kick much better than a fragile bird's body ever could. Dwalin is next and predictably he is even less fond of having the wound on his ear cleaned than Thorin was. After the old dwarrowdam is done Dwalin presses his nose into Thorin's hand, the one where he is still keeping the earring firmly enclosed within his fingers. Thorin takes a moment to understand what he wants from him, but it soon becomes clear when Dwalin keeps turning his other, unwounded ear towards him.

"You want to do it now?" Thorin sighs, tiredness now assaulting his body like a great wave. But Dwalin is relentless and so Thorin calls for Óin and Balin to help him hold the wolf still whilst he pierces his ear and puts the earring back into place.

Dwalin licks his hand in thanks and the two of them huddle together in front of the fire. To his surprise Bilbo offers to take the first watch while they sleep and Thorin agrees, but not before adding that he should wake Dwalin and take him with him should he have to leave the camp for any reason.

Thorin falls into a deep, dreamless sleep almost as soon as he closes his eyes, a small smile on his lips whenever his fingers touch Dwalin's fur.

*

He awakes when it is still deep in the night, only a shimmer of gray at the horizon betraying the next morning that is still a few hours away. Thorin can't have been sleeping for long and he feels it in his bones, his body still weary and aching all over. However, he has little time to contemplate his weariness - an arrows whistles past him and suddenly he is wide awake, snatching his sword from where it had been on the ground next to him to fight the intruders in their camp.

"Thorin!" It is Dís who is shouting for him and a quick gaze towards her shows him his sister fending off another arrow. All around him his companions are shouting and grabbing their weapons, but suddenly there are more arrows in the air although all of them miss their mark by a little as if on purpose. The embers of their own dying fire are flickering and casting a strange reddish light on everything in their surroundings. As dwarrows their sight during the night is by no means bad, but their attackers seem to be able to see in darkness as well for their movements are sure even if they carry no light of their own.

Thorin throws himself in their direction with a snarl, his sword raised - only to find himself drawn up short by the light glinting off an arrow tip that is pointed directly at his face, just out of reach of a quick stroke with his own weapon. There are lots more around him and his companions are stopped in their advance in a similar fashion. He also notices that both Bilbo and Dwalin are missing and for a moment, the fear from earlier he had already thought forgotten surges through him again. But there are no corpses on the ground, neither that of a wolf nor that of a hobbit and he allows himself a little sliver of hope. Maybe they have managed to escape. They have to, for Thorin won't be able to accept Dwalin's or Bilbo's loss, especially not tonight.

Their attackers change words between them and Thorin feels hot anger rise inside him as he recognises the flowery tongue. _Elves_. He had hoped they wouldn't notice them or at least let them pass peacefully, but evidently the fight with Bolg had alerted them. Thorin forces his voice to sound calm, despite old memories bubbling up inside him of pleas for help from the Elven King when the mountain had fallen to which there had never been an answer.

"We have no wish for quarrel with you, we only seek to cross your lands." he tells the darkness, the elves' faces still obscured by the night.

"And yet you brought death upon these lands, dwarf." The elf's voice is cold and Thorin feels the rage burning inside him. "You will come with us, freely or by force, so that my father will judge whether you can continue your journey."

Thorin can feel the dwarves behind him bristle at the condescending tone, but he knows that the elf is serious. He thinks of the mountain and Smaug and his nephews waiting for their return and knows that he cannot risk his company in a sudden attack now. Not when there is so much at stake. He lowers his weapon and can sense the others following his example even though with much reluctance.

The elf barks out something in a sharp tone and a few of his companions lower their bows and step forward. Thorin's arms are suddenly seized and his wrists bound tightly behind his back even as he is roaring in betrayal.

"We would have come with you freely!" he spits, but the shadow in front of him remains unmoving.

"Never trust a dwarf." The words are spoken with such disdain that Thorin wonders whether the elf has ever been personally betrayed by one of their race. It would not be impossible, he admits - the list of sleights both real and imagined is long on both of their sides. Thorin pulls at his bonds but the elven rope is impossible to snap and he swears loudly when it only digs more deeply into his skin.

His sister is hauling angry curses in Khuzdul at their captors and many of the other dwarves are doing the same, struggling and trying to resist although ultimately resistance is pointless with them still at arrow's point. They have their weapons taken from them and Thorin wonders whether he will see his sword again one day, one of the few mementos he still has from his family and their life in the mountain.

They are all roped together in a single file and the elves lead them away from their own camp, taking all their packs and weapons with them. There are no lights to illuminate the way and the moon and stars are still hiding behind dark clouds so that dwarves are stumbling along awkwardly, their balance disturbed by their bound hands. Thorin is beginning to think that they will march all night and doubts that he will be able to stay upright for much longer when the elves call a stop on a small clearing, forming a circle and forcing the dwarves to sit down in the middle so that there is no chance of escape for them. As they settle down there is a wolf's howl in the distance and Thorin sends a quiet prayer of thanks to the Maker. It is Dwalin, of that there is no doubt - they have long ago devised a pattern to their animal calls so they know the other's fate should they ever get separated.

There are still a few hours left until sunrise, but Thorin can sense the first inkling of worry march through his mind already. He feels profoundly uneasy when he thinks about having to change amongst other people, even those of his own kin - and under the eyes of elves it would be even worse. But there is no way out of his bonds and he certainly won't explain his dilemma to his captors. Dís shoots him a worried glance, knowing about the thoughts in his mind and yet unable to help.

There is only one solution he can come up with and it isn't a very good one - but there is none better in his mind right now. Therefore, when he wakes up shortly before sunrise, his body already itching with the signs of the change, he asks the elf closest to him if he could get a quiet moment in the forest to empty his bladder.

The elf hesitates, obviously unsure of what to do. But Thorin is relentless in his insistence and after a brief exchange with their leader he gives in and cuts the ropes connecting Thorin to Balin and his sister although they leave the one around his wrists, rebinding them in front of him. They drag him not far away from the group and after a pointed growl from him in their direction that is driven by more desperation than they likely realise they step away from him granting him at least a sliver of privacy. Thorin knows it isn't enough but he can feel the change coming again and doesn't have the power to stop or delay it.

He hates transforming with his clothes on and the bonds will make it even more difficult. The last coherent thought he has is that hopefully Dwalin won't try and rescue him. But then even those thoughts are swept away and there is nothing inside him but pain. The only thing he can promise himself as his bones are breaking and reforming and his entire body convulses in pain is that he won't give anybody the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

*

Dís wakes up as her brother argues with the elf and watches him with worry in her eyes. She wishes she were able to help but she knows she isn't. The feeling has been grating at her ever since her brother and his partner came home from their misbegotten fight against Smaug and she has witnessed their change firsthand but tonight it almost cripples her, to know what's coming and yet be unable to do anything. She steels herself for his screams although they still cut deeply into her soul whenever she hears them as they have for over a century. The forest, however, remains almost eerily silent and she can only wonder at how much effort it must cost Thorin not to make any noise.

Instead of her brother's voice she hears confused shouting after a moment and the angry calls of a raven. The elves around her seem restless at the noises but it shows how well trained they are as soldiers that they don't move from their place without order from their leader. The ruckus continues until the two guards who went with Thorin return, hair slightly dishevelled (which, Dís thinks, probably already counts as an injury amongst them) and a grim expression on their faces. Dís breathes in sharply when she sees what one of them carrying - Thorin's feathers are tousled and there's a look of panic in his eyes as he struggles in vain against the firm grip of his captor. One elf's hand is clamped around his beak, holding it shut and the shallow bleeding wounds on both of their hands bear testament as to why. The shirt Thorin has been wearing is slung around his body to keep him from escaping and harming them any further with his wings and talons.

It is light enough by now that Dís is able to see the leader's blond hair and the frown on his face as he looks at them.

"He just changed." one of the elves tells him in a still slightly incredulous tone. The common tongue somehow makes his voice sound harsher. "One moment he was a dwarf, the other his body just...transformed into a bird and he attacked us when we tried to catch him."

A short expression of horror flickers over his face when he mentions the transformation and Dís can only imagine what he has seen. She has never witnessed her brother's complete transformation during the entire century but Thorin has told her about it once when they had both been much younger and since then she has never asked again. Both Thorin and Dwalin have taken care to always change out of sight.

"Is it true?" The blond elf suddenly turns around towards his prisoners. "Is this your leader?"

The entire Company is awake by now and stares at him defiantly, not deigning his questions with an answer. The elf's eyes narrow in annoyance and he circles the group, eyeing them all one by one to discern the weakest link amongst them. Dís quietly smiles to herself; if he thinks that anybody here would betray Thorin then he is wrong. Their loyalty to their king is unwavering.

"My lord Legolas, we found these next to where he changed."

The second guard who is standing beside the one holding Thorin lifts his arms and Dís can see that he's holding Thorin's clothes, the rope that has been around his wrists - and the small charm he had worn around his neck that Fíli made him. At the sight of the crude little wooden carving Thorin suddenly triples his efforts to get free, fighting violently against the elf's hands. However, the grip around him tightens until the muffled croaks sound more like pained screams than anything else and he stops.

Legolas walks over and picks up the necklace with a curious expression on his face, obviously wondering how an object of such crude technique could be so precious to someone.

"So it really _is_ true." he muses. "And I thought the legend of the shape-shifting dwarves was nothing but a ruse, spread by Smaug so that everyone might cower in fear of his magic."

Thorin shoots him as hateful a glance as it is possible for him. Legolas throws the charm back on the pile of clothes and tells his guards to stow them away somewhere since he rightly assumes that their prisoner will transform again at sundown. He also orders them to find some flexible vines to start weaving a cage and it is at that moment that Dís cannot be silent any longer.

"Please don't." She forces the words past her lips and tries not to sound too pleading despite her choice of words. "He shouldn't- he would go mad if you put him in a cage and likely harm himself in an attempt to escape."

Legolas lifts a hand, his soldiers stopping in carrying out his orders.

"You spend your entire lives inside mountains, dwarf. Do not make me believe that close spaces make you feel unwell."

Dís wants to scream in frustration about his ignorance. She doesn't point out that no, most of them haven't spend much time in mountains or caves lately, not since their home was destroyed, and that the airy and wide structures of stone that are so typical for dwarven make can hardly be described as 'close spaces.'

"And yet it is not only a dwarf, but also a bird you are talking about." she points out with all the patience she has left. It will be worth it if she can only spare her brother the cage. She knows he has been caught more than once so far and each time it was worse for him - the deep wounds on his ankles that had given himself in an attempt to break free the last time had taken more than a week to heal. "And you people above all should know how much freedom matters to such beings."

Legolas looks back from her to the raven who stares back at him defiantly and Dís can only hope that her words have not gone unheard. After a moment of hesitation that has her praying to the Maker that the elf will see reason he nods and gesticulates for the elf holding Thorin to come closer. He looks straight into the raven's eye as he speaks.

"I will free you now from the cloth around you. However, if you so much as attempt to attack us you will spend the rest of your journey to my father's halls in a cage."

Thorin nods, as much as it is possible with the hand still closed around his beak. Legolas gestures to the guard to do as he has said and with a look of hesitation on his face the elf starts to unwrap the shirt from around the bird's body. Thorin moves his wings slightly once they are free, but doesn't make any attempt to fight or flee and it just shows Dís how deeply afraid her brother is of the prospect of a cage.

Legolas holds out his hand and someone puts the rope in it that has bound Thorin's hands beforehand. He attaches it to one of the raven's legs and after a few words the guard releases Thorin's beak. The raven shakes himself to bring some semblance of order back to his feathers. Then he does as he seems to be expected to, hopping onto Legolas' arm with a look of utter contempt in his eyes. The elf walks over to his prisoners until he stands directly in front of Dís.

"You will carry him." he tells her and she nods, grateful that it is her. Thorin's rope is attached to the one around her own wrists and he flaps his wings and settles on her shoulder, muzzling his head on her beard for a moment before testing the strength of his bond by pecking at it. Of course, the attempt is entirely fruitless since the elvish rope, albeit thin, seems to be indestructible. Balin looks at them both and sighs in relief when he sees that Thorin seems to be content with his position on his sister's shoulder. Dís just hopes that the rest of the day won't be too hard on both of them.

*

The journey to the elvenking's home takes several days and Dís feels worry starting to gnaw at her insides long before they have reached it. They had left plenty of time to reach the mountain and would have had no trouble to arrive there before Durin's Day if they had just been able to travel like they had planned. Ironically, the journey into the heart of Mirkwood _does_ bring them closer to Erebor for the first two days - but she knows as well as the others that they won't escape so easily from its halls. Their only hopes lie with Dwalin and Bilbo who have to be somewhere in the forest around them and Dís hopes that neither of them had been harmed in the attack. She is glad that Dwalin is with Bilbo; she has grown very fond of the hobbit with his quiet love for books, lively tongue and sparkle in his eyes when he is telling her children stories. However, those memories also bring back thoughts of Fíli and Kíli and her heart clenches.

She misses her sons more than anything and now that they have been captured she doesn't know whether she will ever return to them. The thought makes ice spread in her veins, especially when she thinks about her children waiting for their return for months after months. Kíli is so small yet, would he even understand why his mother and uncles aren't coming back? She tries to ban those images from her mind, telling herself that there is still hope, that they _will_ return, one way or the other.

Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, greets them from high up on his throne deep in the heart of the hidden city that is built above as well as underground and seems to be one with the trees surrounding it. Legolas and his guards have waited until the evening with presenting their prisoners to him and no doubt they have sent a messenger ahead to tell him who is coming for Thranduil's eyes light up with curiosity when he lays sight upon Thorin.

Despite her rage about their capture Dís has to admit that she feels a sliver of gratitude for the elves for they have granted her brother at least some measure of privacy during his changes. Thorin, however, looks haggard and tired, his hair unkempt and falling in unruly waves around his face although Dís guesses she doesn't look much better herself - and neither does any of her other companions. She can also feel the fury simmer under his outwardly so calm demeanour and knows that it will only take a single spark to ignite it.

Thorin steps up to the throne with Dís and Balin closely behind him as the elves cut the bonds that have bound them together although their wrists still remain tied. Thranduil gestures at his soldiers to cut them loose and it is clear why - the throne room is swarming with elves and each and every one of them looks like they are more than proficient with a blade, especially the red-haired one standing slightly behind the king with a look of steel in her eyes that proclaims her a member of the king's personal guard.

"I heard my soldiers caught you when you were spilling blood in and trespassing my lands. I wonder what brings Thorin, son of Thráin, re-awakened from his supposed death and his kin so far from their home."

Dís shudders slightly when she hears her brother being addressed by his full name and realises that Thranduil must have known him from before the fall of their home; she herself had been too young to remember much of the royal visitors her father and grandfather had received.

"We were merely aiming to cross to the southern edges of your lands and spend no more than three days in the forest." Thorin tells him, leaving aside any greeting that might be fit for a talk between two kings. And rightly so, Dís thinks, since they have been treated as prisoners, not as equals.

"And yet you did not seek to ask for our leave to do so." Thranduil descends from the dais that his throne is set upon and comes closer. Dís feels her own temper rising and if it weren't for the guards surrounding them she would have attacked the elvenking already, even with only her bare hands as a weapon.

"Because it has never before been required." Thorin presses out between clenched teeth, the heat of his own rage so close to the surface now. "We have broken no laws."

Thranduil smirks, a dangerous spark lighting in his eyes.

"Since when do you know elvish law, Thorin Oakenshield?"

"I do not." Thorin admits. "But it has been common knowledge that travellers are free to pass your lands at the edges of it without having to fear that they will be taken prisoner."

"Then it has been a while since you last passed across these lands. Rules change as the days grow darker and you carried the fight against the darkness on my own land."

"We were attacked and merely fending for our lives." Thorin growls, his patience wearing visibly thin.

Thranduil cocks his head and when he asks his next question something is subtly different about his voice and Dís guesses that everything so far has been nothing but banter, the true reason they have been brought here being revealed to them now.

"And what were you doing in the forest in the first place?"

Thorin takes a second too long to answer and Thranduil knows he's lying, Dís can see it in his face. She jumps in with words of her own.

"We were travelling to visit our kin in the Iron Hills." she offers with a voice so steady she surprises herself. Thranduil turns to her and for the first time she is subjected to the full weight of his gaze but she refuses to bend beneath its weight. She is a daughter of Durin and made of stronger stuff and so she meets his eyes squarely, challenging him.

Thranduil lets the silence stretch for a moment longer before he abruptly steps back and breaks the tension. He gestures for the guards to come closer again.

"Take them away." he orders and Dís' arms are seized, all her struggle in vain. "Leave only the king. Maybe a talk between two kings on their own can loosen his tongue."

They drag her and Balin away and she shouts her brother's name, knowing that Thorin cannot bear being alone for too long but that he will also never give away their purpose for too much is at stake for him to be able to risk the elves' knowledge of their venture. As they drag her away and down into the bowels of the earth beneath the forest she feels her blood slowly turning to ice, terrified of what might happen to him and the rest of their Company.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing the Thorin-Thranduil confrontation was so much fun omg. I always enjoy writing Thranduil for some reason, him and his fabulous haughty sneer.
> 
> [uses Richard's voice on the BtS] _Elves._

It is more luck than anything else that Dwalin and Bilbo escape the elves. Bilbo has just left the camp for a few moments in the company of the wolf to relieve himself when Dwalin's fine ears pick up on sounds in the forest close by. The elves have been extraordinarily quiet - almost as if they are a part of the forest itself and Dwalin only notices their presence when they are already much too close. His first instinct is to run back to the others and warn them of the approaching danger, but the moment he sets off towards the rest of the Company the sound of arrows cutting the air reaches his ears.

Bilbo's fingers are digging into the scruff of his neck as soon as they are close enough that he can make out the shapes of their attackers. Dwalin wants to jump at the elves, but the hobbit is using his entire weight to hold him back. Dwalin turns around to growl at him, his teeth snapping dangerously close Bilbo's hands. He doesn't want to harm him but he will if it becomes necessary. He has to get back to them.

"Don't." Bilbo whispers at him."They are using arrows and there are far too many of them, Thorin and the others won't be able to do much against it. We will be of much more help to them when we aren't caught as well."

Dwalin growls again but Bilbo's grip is firm on his fur and after a moment he stops pulling and forces himself to think about what the hobbit just said. As much as the blood is thrumming in his veins and he longs to be at his partner's and his friends' side, Bilbo is right. Throwing himself into the fray now would likely only get him skewered with an arrow or two, like a wild beast that has to be put down. And so he can only watch as the dwarves are bound and let away one by one. Dori is walking as close to his sister and little brother as he can, still trying to protect them even when it's useless. Glóin seems to be fuming despite his sister attempts to calm him and his voice mixes with that of Dís in throwing angry words in Khuzdul at the elves. The Ur siblings and Balin seem to be calm on the outside but Dwalin can see the little signs that they are angry as well - Balin's quiet muttering to himself, Bofur's bowed head, the nervous little movements of Bifur's hands, Bombur's still posture that is so unlike her usual eagerness. It breaks Dwalin's heart to see them all like this, especially when he looks at Thorin, the note of fear in his expression of what will happen when morning comes likely visible only to him.

Bilbo and him return the camp to gather any remaining food that they can still find although the elves have taken most of the packs and all of the weapons. They follow the dwarves through the forest, Dwalin's nose showing him the way even when the group has long vanished from sight. One of Bilbo's hands remains firmly in his fur so that he can guide the hobbit in this lightless night and the feeling is oddly familiar as if Thorin was walking beside him in the same way as he has done countless times before. The hobbit begins to stumble with tiredness after a while and even Dwalin feels exhaustion welling up inside him so he is more than grateful when the elves finally seem to call a halt to their march.

Dwalin and Bilbo settle down in safe distance to them and Dwalin howls into the night. It is a pattern they have devised long ago and he knows Thorin will recognise it as a signal that he is alive and well. He briefly ventures closer to the camp but he can see at once that there is no way for him or Bilbo to free their friends, not when the dwarves are surrounded by a circle of elven guards.

The change is quick and harsh this morning and Dwalin can only imagine what Thorin feels like. He hopes his partner has been able to come up with some kind of plan to escape the elves but those hopes are dim and when no raven appears in the sky he quietly gives up on them. He and Bilbo don't dare to venture too close to see for themselves; now that he isn't a wolf anymore it is hard enough to follow them anyway, even with his slightly heightened senses.

Once they reach the elven settlement, however, they are both at a loss of what to do. Bilbo has been remarkably quiet throughout the day and Dwalin hadn't found the words to comfort him for his own worry is just as great. There is no way he and Bilbo will be able to slay Smaug on their own if they would continue their journey with just the two of them; not that he would have left Thorin and the others alone in any case. Dwalin doesn't even think about what it will do to Thorin to be locked in a cell. The bird inside him will slowly go mad, bit by bit, until he throws himself against the bars to be let out again and break his neck with the violence of it. He can only hope that all the dwarves are being jailed together and his partner will receive at least some comfort from his kin. Dwalin doesn't believe that the elves would torture them, at least not consciously, despite the mutual dislike of their races.

The elvenking's city looks easily breached at first glance, but a closer prowl around it at night time shows Dwalin that his first assertion has been wrong. Guards are stationed everywhere, many of them hidden inside trees and forming a gapless chain around the city. There is no true way for them to get inside and free their friends. The realisation makes Dwalin snarl and bare his teeth and that night his hunting is bloody and savage. At least they have taken enough food and water so that Bilbo doesn't go hungry or thirsty, but the nights are slowly growing colder, showing that autumn has truly arrived and winter will soon be over them. Dwalin allows Bilbo to curl up close to him and share the warmth of his body like only Thorin has done before because he knows that otherwise the hobbit might simply freeze to death.

They spend the next two days in the vicinity of the elvenking's home, unable to get inside but also unwilling to leave. Help comes to them unexpectedly, but it comes - shortly after sundown on the evening of the second day there is a sound in the understorey behind them and just when Dwalin whips around, ready to tear their eventual attacker's throat out, Bilbo calls out as loudly as he dares.

"Gandalf!"

The wizard is leaning heavily on his staff, looking slightly dishevelled, but his face lights up when he sees Bilbo and Dwalin in front of him. Dwalin slowly relaxes again.

"I had hoped that my information was right and some of you escaped." he says, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of their ragged appearance.

"How did you find us?" Bilbo demands to know from him and Gandalf smiles slightly.

"Secrets of the trade, Master Baggins. I can't tell you all my tricks or I wouldn't be a wizard anymore now, would I?"

Dwalin lets out an exasperated huff paired with a groan as Bilbo rolls his eyes. Instead of standing around here talking they should be freeing their companions.

"Have the rest of your company all been captured?" Bilbo nods at Gandalf's question and, after an encouraging gesture from the old man, tells him the entire story of what has happened. Gandalf's expression darkens slightly during the hobbit's tale, especially when they are unable to tell him what has become of Thorin and that the elves have likely discovered his ability to change now.

"I fear my influence with the elvenking is very small if not completely gone." Gandalf tells them regretfully once Bilbo has finished. "I certainly won't be able to convince him to let his prisoners walk free, not without revealing the purpose of your journey and my role in it first. No, we have to find other ways..."

His voice trails off as he is obviously trying to think about other solutions for freeing the dwarves. Then his gaze suddenly snaps back into place, eyes focusing on Dwalin and Bilbo once again.

"In four days the elves will celebrate the Feast of Starlight. Only few guards will be on duty that day and I daresay that most of them won't be entirely sober. It is your best chance of getting to the cells and freeing the Company."

"We? And what about you?" Bilbo asks, the way how Gandalf has excluded himself from this plan so far not having eluded him. Dwalin looks at Bilbo with something akin to pride in his gaze, glad that the hobbit has long since found the courage to stand his own ground.

"I will do my best to divert the guards' attention from you, Bilbo Baggins." Gandalf answers with a slightly sharp tone to his voice. "And I hope to give you enough time so that you will be able to get them out safely."

Both Bilbo and Dwalin are slightly taken aback by his answer even though nonetheless grateful. Dwalin has no doubt that Gandalf will be able to conjure up enough magic to keep the guards busy for a while; if this plan works they might indeed still be hope for them and their venture.

Now they just have to wait.

*

Thranduil demands Thorin's presence again on the third night of their imprisonment. Thorin tries to appear as calm and composed as possible, as if he were unfazed by the time that has passed. In truth he is still trembling from the change not long ago, the shaking now lasting so much longer than when he was outside with Dwalin. He feels cold inside and out when the elves come to lead him to the elvenking again. Since they have separated him from the rest of his company he hasn't seen any of them again, doesn't know what has become of his sister, of Balin and all the others. There is a nagging fear in his heart that something has happened to them although he doesn't hold Thranduil capable of such cruelty.

His cell lies alone and deserted far underground and although he knows that there must be guards somewhere close he never hears them speak or make any other sound. The silence is grating at his nerves and he feels like he is slowly losing his hold on reality, seeing phantoms in the shadows on the wall thrown there by the torches outside, hearing voices that aren't truly there and which are taunting him with cruel words that they will never achieve what they have set out to do and he will die without ever seeing his loved ones again.

The changes become worse each day and he can no longer hold back his screams although nobody seems to react to them. The transformation is his only way to measure time in this place - as dwarf he normally has no problems telling time underground but the elvenking's realm seems to garble his senses so that every time the change comes again he is less prepared than he would be outside.

On the first day that he had been imprisoned as a bird he had flown against the narrowly set bars of the door of his cell until he had almost broken his neck and wings, all in a mad desire to get out as the walls slowly seemed to be closing in on him. The guards had come then, accompanied by Thranduil himself, and tried to bind him so that he could not move; but his attacks at their faces had been savage and they had been unable to catch and hold him for long, leaving him alone again. Only once has someone come to see him afterwards - it had been the red-haired elf who had been standing next to Thranduil on the day they had been brought to him.

She had watched him for a moment through the bars before entering his cell. Thorin had given up on his mad attempts to escape, huddling in the corner instead, trying to appear as small as possible as he closed his eyes to escape the blinding closeness of the cell. His first instinct when she entered had been to throw himself at her, use beak and talons to show his anger and fear. But then she had opened her hand and from her fingers had dangled Fíli's gift to him, the small whittled raven painted black. She had advanced cautiously, putting the ornament on the ground in front of him before she had turned around to leave his cell again.

"Your companions are alive and well." she had whispered to him in the common tongue, so quiet that not even the guards outside would have been able to hear. A look of sympathy had been in her eyes although Thorin has not seen her again since then. The small act of sympathy, especially coming from an elf, puzzles him although he immediately knew not to count on it in the future. The charm, however, has stayed with him ever since, hidden underneath his folded clothes or worn around his neck during those times he was a dwarf again.

The two guards who bind his hands in front of him and guide him through seemingly endless staircases and halls to Thranduil's throne room are unfamiliar to him. The elvenking looks like he hasn't moved since their first meeting although his stare seems to be even sharper than before, his entire demeanour more aggressive.

"Cut his bonds." he tells his guards as soon as they appear in front of him and when one of them carefully starts to object, pointing out that Thorin is too dangerous to do so, he waves at him angrily until his order is followed.

Thorin massages his wrists more for show than anything else and sees Thranduil's gaze linger on the grazed skin on his knuckles and arms that bear testament to his erratic attempts to escape from his cell. He refuses to give the elf the satisfaction to complain about his prison and that such confined space is no quarter for a bird at all. He also doesn't ask him about his comrades, choosing to believe the red-haired elf's words and not wanting to appear pleading in front of Thranduil.

"So Smaug has truly cursed you." Thranduil says and it is more a statement than a question. Thorin doesn't deign his words with an answer, knowing that Thranduil has seen so for himself. There is no need to confirm it.

"The legends, however..." Thranduil shifts slightly, leaning forward in Thorin's direction. "They tell of a wolf as well as a raven and yet none of your companions seems to be under the same curse as you."

Thorin still remains silent, meeting Thranduil's gaze squarely. He would rather die than tell him about Dwalin, especially now that Bilbo and the wolf might be their only hopes of escape. Thranduil seems annoyed at his continued silence, now stepping down from his throne and closing in on Thorin, making their difference in height even more apparent.

"So how many were there in your group? And where is the wolf? For I do not believe your companion, if he exists, will have remained behind on whatever your mission is."

"We were twelve when we set off from our home. One of our companions, the wolf, perished at the hand of Bolg, the orc that was slain by our hands after such provocation. Ask your soldiers; they will have seen the wolf's pelt that was sent to our camp to taunt us and the wolf traps at the orc's camp."

Thorin doesn't even have to act the pain in his voice - it seems all too easy to recall every single shade of it from when he truly believed Dwalin was dead. Thranduil remains motionless for a moment before he gestures to one of the guards and sends him away, only to return a few minutes later with the blond elf who had been the leader of those who captured them. There is a short exchange between them in Elvish and at the end Thranduil seems to be satisfied, turning back to Thorin.

"My son confirms that a wolf's pelt was found amongst your belongings, yes. Still I do not entirely believe your claims." His voice sounds just slightly curious and Thorin has to remind himself that for elves, death is just a rare thing, one which many of them experience never or only rarely. "Are those in our cells truly the only ones who came with you?"

"Yes." Thorin insists, praying that his voice won't give away the lie. Thranduil's eyes narrow at his refusal to talk, but he chooses not to pursue the subject for now.

"Tell me, what is it that you seek?" he asks abruptly, maybe hoping that the sudden change of topic will make Thorin more inclined to answer. "For it seems that you are travelling with a large group for a mere courtesy visit."

"And yet it is nothing more than that." Thorin replies icily. "A simple visit to our kin in the Iron Hills. Do you not go and visit kin of your own at times?"

A spark of anger suddenly glimmers in the elvenking's eyes and Thorin knows he has gone a step too far, especially when the elf leans down, his face uncomfortably close.

"Do not presume to know _anything_ about my kind, Thorin Oakenshield. I know that you are lying - do you not think I would have means to make you talk?"

"I do not doubt it." Thorin wants to add ' _yet I don't think that you will sink so low as to make use of them_ ', but he bites his tongue, not wanting to provoke Thranduil any further.

"An offer perhaps, then." Thranduil draws himself up to his full height again, every trace of rage suddenly gone from his voice in an act of will that Thorin can only admire. "Your help against the freedom of your Company."

Thorin cocks his head, interested despite his knowledge that he shouldn't be.

"You will remain here and spy for us on all those that seek to enter these lands and your companions will walk free."

The words make hot rage rush through Thorin. They clearly show that Thranduil doesn't see him as a king of equal standing at all, just another chess piece he may use as he sees fit. The notion is even tempting, for a moment, for he knows the others might be able to complete their quest without him. At the moment, however, pride and honour are still too strong inside his mind to fall prey to such an offer. Besides, should Dwalin catch wind that he still remains in the elvenking's dungeons his partner would do anything, likely risk himself, to see him freed. No.

"You would have me stay as your _servant_." he spits. "A fancy of nature and unfortunate circumstance for you to use as you see fit. Never, Thranduil. _Never_."

He leaves out the 'king' as he addresses him, just as the elf will seemingly never acknowledge his status. The anger in Thranduil's eyes flares up again but his voice yet remains calm.

"I offered you my help, Thorin Oakenshield, and such an offer should never be discarded lightly."

The rage inside Thorin grows stronger at Thranduil's words and he raises his voice, not caring who can hear them.

"Your _help_? Where was your help then the one time we asked for it? Where was your help when our children died in the cold of winter, when dwarrows starved so their kin could survive? Your words are nothing but lies, King of the Woodland Realm, and I would not believe any of them!" He throws a curse in Khuzdul after it and in his rage he doesn't even notice the guards stepping up behind him at a gesture of Thranduil's and grabbing his arms so hard their fingers will leave bruises on his skin.

"Very well then, you will receive what you asked for, _King_ Thorin." The way Thranduil pronounces the word 'king' it is nothing but pure mockery. The guards are dragging him away, all his attempts at resistance futile, no matter how much he is struggling. "I have time, more than your kind will ever be able to grasp. May you and your kin rot in our dungeons or be set free should you change your mind; it is all the same to me."

Thorin growls in wordless rage as he is being taken away, hoping that one day he will be able to make the elven king pay as he sits on the throne of his own kingdom again.

*

The days of waiting have been hell for all of them. Bilbo paces up and down nervously as they wait for the cover of darkness to approach, Dwalin constantly at his side. The dwarf cannot even remember what they have done throughout the last few days, apart from seemingly endless discussions of their plans over and over again and Gandalf disappearing once more on his own business before returning an hour before the evening arrives. Dwalin is anxious at the best of times and needlessly aggressive at the worst of them, often spending long hours hunting in the forest at night and brooding throughout the day. He is worried about Thorin and although Gandalf assures him that the dwarven king will certainly come to no bodily harm in Thranduil's cells, he isn't exactly mollified by such statements. One evening he tells Bilbo about Thorin's dislike for enclosed spaces, especially in bird's form, and he is sure that the hobbit can understand a little better what worries are flittering through the dwarf's mind now.

They have retreated far into the forest so that they will not be accidentally seen by any patrols or guards that surround Thranduil's home and as soon as Dwalin has changed that evening they make their way towards the stronghold. Bilbo tells Dwalin that he fervently hopes that Gandalf has been right, that many of the elves will indeed be too drunk to pose a problem and that the rest of them will be easily distracted by whatever magic the wizard will conjure up. The most difficult part will be to find the prisoners inside the elvish home, a problem that not even Gandalf can help them with apart from telling them that they will likely have to look at the lower levels that have been built underground.

When they reach the edge of the forest that borders on the elvenking's home it is completely dark, only a few stars lighting the sky overhead, although the full moon should soon start to rise over the horizon. It is only two weeks until Durin's Day now and they will have to hurry should they want to reach their goal in time. First of all, however, they will need to free their comrades.

Gandalf tells them to wait whilst he goes and puts the distraction in place and only move once they can do so safely. He also reminds of them of the place where they will meet up should everything go as smoothly as planned, the side of a river not far from here where Gandalf promises them transport will be waiting.

"And how will we know when we are ready to move?" Bilbo whispers back at him. Gandalf just raises his eyebrows.

"You'll know it when you see it, Bilbo. Just be patient." Dwalin growls slightly in anger, knowing that patience certainly isn't one of his own strengths this night. Gandalf just shoots him a warning, yet understanding glance and tells him not to leave too early - getting themselves caught will help no one, least of all Thorin.

And so they wait, one of Bilbo's hands in Dwalin's fur as if he wanted to help keep him calm although Dwalin can feel the tension thrumming through the hobbit's body as well as his own. Both of them startle in surprise when there is a sudden roar and bright light towards the other end of the enclosed elven settlement. The noise is almost deafening, especially when more and more bright lights join them and Dwalin can hear calls being thrown back and forth between the elven guards in the forest and see black shapes moving towards the light after they had been told to see what the commotion is. A few guards are still left but they are stationed far enough away from each other that they will be able to slip through. Dwalin is glad that Bilbo can move so exceptionally quietly, it will make their task much easier. How they will escape with eleven prisoners in row he doesn't know, but they can worry about it later. The most important thing is to free them first.

They slip through the widest gap between the remaining elves that Dwalin can make out and for a moment it seems like there is no difference between the forest they just left and the home of the mirkwood elves. Then, however, they notice the changes, especially as they slowly venture more deeply into it - the trees are littered with small platforms and rooms, branches intertwined and the spaces between them filled up with both earth and living plants. There are several workings of metal and stone as well, although they all look like they have grown naturally here. The entire settlement is so alien compared to anything they both know that Bilbo and Dwalin are unable to orient themselves, not knowing where to go. Dwalin notices a sinking feeling in his heart - how will they ever find the others in here?

They take they first set of stairs leading underground that they can find, narrowly avoiding a clash with a guard, and find themselves in a large wine cellar. Many of the bottles are obviously being used upstairs and suddenly Dwalin is glad that they have waited until today - the festivities mean that most elves are likely up in the trees under the light of the stars and the rising moon and not where they could accidentally run into them. When they look around, they also spy several doors that seem to be leading to adjacent chambers, and a number of keys on the wall next to them.

Two obviously already slightly drunk elves enter the cellar and Bilbo and Dwalin have just enough time to slip behind one of the many wine racks. The elves are speaking in their own tongue, but Bilbo frowns when he listens to them. After taking several bottles of wine with them they leave again and as soon as they are out of earshot, Bilbo turns around to Dwalin.

"We need to follow them." he whispers quietly to the wolf. "I'm no scholar but when I was small my mother taught me a few elvish words and I heard them talk about dwarves and something to do with 'wine' and 'guard'. From what they're wearing I'm guessing they are both guards - if we're lucky, they're off to relieve the current watch of their duty."

Dwalin looks up at the hobbit with slight wonder in his gaze - Bilbo seems to have more hidden qualities than they had initially realised. Although there are a lot of scents in the palace and on the ground and many of them are confusing to him in their novelty he still manages to follow the elves' trail, fresh and already tinged with alcohol as it is. Their steps have led the guards upstairs again only to descend down into the deeper levels on a different stairwell not far away. Bilbo was right and they must have indeed taken the next shift for Dwalin and Bilbo have to hide as another set of guards walks upstairs and comes past them. Dwalin can smell that the new guards are standing at the bottom of the stairs and out of sight around several corners. With a nod towards Bilbo he asks him to follow him. There is no need to tell the hobbit to be quiet for his feet make no sound on the steps as they carefully descend downstairs. The next part is harder - Dwalin shoves Bilbo into a small alcove that will hide him from eyes both above and below and nods at the sword in Bilbo's hands. He hopes the hobbit understands and stays where he is whilst he lures the guards towards him.

Surprisingly, his plan works, and even better than expected. As soon as the guards see him they shout out in surprise and both come running after him, movements already slightly sluggish from the spirits in their blood. Dwalin stops as soon as he reaches the bottom of the stairs and it gives Bilbo enough time to knock out the guards with a blow of his sword's pommel to their heads. They have agreed the day before that they won't kill the elves unless absolutely necessary - not because of pity, but because Thranduil would likely hunt them all the way to Erebor if they did.

As soon as the two guards are unconscious and brought safely out of sight, Bilbo starts rummaging in their clothes, only to exclaim in satisfaction when he finds a large ring of keys that must surely belong to the cells. They walk down the narrow paths that stretch over surprising depths below their feet, always on the lookout for more guards. Either they are lucky and no more guards are stationed down here or they are all upstairs and joining in the celebrations, but they find no more elves. Dwalin can smell the dwarves now as well (and notes with a wry amusement that the days of imprisonment certainly haven't done their smell any good).

The first cell they reach is that of Ori and Bifur. The elves have seemingly put them all into cells without any regards to their kinship (and how would they know anyway?), but thankfully the Company has grown even closer over the last few weeks. Ori almost gives them away in his delight to see them, shouting Bilbo's name as soon as the hobbit appears on the walkway before his cell. Bilbo signals him frantically to be quiet or the elves might be alerted, but that doesn't stop Ori from enveloping him in a hug as soon as he is outside and kneeling down and embracing Dwalin as well.

The other react similarly enthusiastic and glad when they see them and Dwalin almost feels like an oversized plush animal from the number of times he's being hugged and petted. Brothers and sisters are embracing each other and reassuring themselves that the other's fine, their relief obvious. Dwalin's entire joy of seeing his companions free again, however, vanishes when they open the last cell that is occupied by Dís and Balin and he notices that Thorin is nowhere to be seen. Dís is the last one to draw him into an embrace and he whines questioningly as soon as he can look into her eyes again. She has known him for a long time and so she understands immediately what his question is.

"I haven't seen Thorin since the day we were brought here." she tells him quietly and he can hear the worry in her voice crushing her own heart. "I don't think- I hope Thranduil hasn't harmed him, but he's been alone all this time, Dwalin, and-"

Dís bites her lip and she doesn't need to continue talking for Dwalin to know what she wants to say. Bilbo, too, has noticed that Thorin is missing and started to explain the best way for the dwarves to get out of here without being seen. He also mentions the rooms next to the wine cellar and suggests that the company search them for their weapons and packs - if they are lucky, they might have been stored inside one of the rooms and they will be able to find them until Bilbo and Dwalin have freed Thorin.

Dís takes lead of the company and reminds them all to be quiet before she throws Bilbo and Dwalin another glance.

"Find him, and bring him back." she tells them and Dwalin can hear the note of roughness under her voice. Bilbo nods and he answers her with a huff and a wag of his tail that almost makes her smile. Then they leave.

Balin has guessed that Thorin will be locked up deeper underground although they have never seen any of the elves go or lead Thorin past their cells. That means that there must be another way down and both Bilbo and Dwalin do not have much to go by. On their way back, however, they notice a stairwell that branches off from the main walkway, not far from where the guards stood when they first encountered them. Both of them hadn't truly seen it on their way in for Dwalin had picked up the smell of the dwarves a little earlier and as such they had hurried along as fast as possible. It would make sense for the path to the lower levels to be here, where two guards can easily keep watch on anyone who passes on the way to any of the cells. Dwalin feels hope flourish in his insides as they slowly walk along and down the stairs.

They get to another level and once again they have to decide which way to go - further down or along the cells that are in this area? Dwalin closes his eyes and raises his head to sniff the air. As he lowers his nose further towards the ground he can feel some of the smells getting stronger - elves and the rich scent of earth, of course, but there is also another smell underlying it, of bird and iron and he knows it has to be Thorin. The trace leads downstairs to the lowest of the three levels, deep within the ground. Dwalin should feel comfortable here as a dwarf but he does not; this place is still completely alien to him and he cannot imagine what it must have been like for Thorin to be locked up down here all on his own.

The smell is getting stronger now and Dwalin practically runs the last few steps towards the cell that Thorin is in, too fast for Bilbo to follow. His partner, however, doesn't even look up when he approaches and there is something about the way Thorin sits huddled in the corner farthest to the door that makes Dwalin's insides clench. Even though he is a dwarf he looks so much like a bird right now, like the raven Dwalin has rescued more than once from a vendor's cage on the market. There are black feathers on the ground and Dwalin hopes fervently that they haven't been removed by force. He whines quietly and that gets Thorin's attention at last. He lifts his head and Dwalin almost takes a step backwards when he see him. There are deep rings under his eyes and his hair is unkempt and wild. A shimmer is in his eyes that speaks of something not entirely sane anymore and only now Dwalin realises that he seems to be shaking ever so slightly.

He whines again and this time Thorin truly reacts.

"Dwalin?" he whispers, as if he cannot trust his eyes anymore. Dwalin whines a third time and it is enough to get Thorin to move. He shuffles a little closer so he can stretch out his trembling fingers towards the wolf and touch his fur.

"You're real." Thorin murmurs and Dwalin notices the dark spots on his hand where he must have broken his skin in the vain attempts to break out.

"Yes, we're real and we're going to get you out of here." Bilbo has finally caught up with them and if he is at all shocked by Thorin's appearance he hides it well, jiggling the keys in his hands instead and immediately starting to search for the right one to fit the lock on the door to Thorin's cell.

"Master Baggins." There is a lot of relief and gratitude in Thorin's voice and Bilbo looks up quickly to smile at him before he concentrates on the lock and the keys in his hands again. Thorin's hand never leaves Dwalin's fur and the physical contact seems to be calming both of them. A great sigh of relief seems to leave Thorin once the door is finally open and the first thing he does is sink to his knees, burying his face and as much of his body as he can in Dwalin's fur. Dwalin makes a soft sound at the base of his throat, pressing close to Thorin with equal vigour until he can feel the trembling of his partner's body slowly stilling.

Bilbo clears his throat and reminds them both that they have to be leaving - Thorin's full recovery will have to wait until they are outside in the forest, for they haven't fully escaped, not yet. To Bilbo's surprise Thorin hugs him as well, relief emanating from him with every second.

"Thank you." he tells the hobbit earnestly and Dwalin lets out an agreeing sound.

"I- er, you're welcome." Bilbo manages to get out before he turns around to lead the way out, obviously embarrassed. Thorin walks next to Dwalin and the wolf can see and feel the occasional shiver still running through his partner. Moreover, it is obvious how exhausted Thorin is - he must have had little to no sleep and Dwalin doubts he has eaten much either.

They meet the others at the top of the stairs and Dís walks toward her brother and envelopes him in her arms without a word. Their foreheads are touching and she whispers a few sentences in Khuzdul to him, too quiet to be heard by anyone else. Balin does the same, greeting Thorin with as much warmth and reassurance as he is able to give. The others bid their leader welcome as well and it feels good to Dwalin to be a group again, a feeling of warm satisfaction settling in his guts.

The others have indeed managed to find the room where all their weapons and packs are being kept; and surprisingly, most of their possessions are still there and have not been stolen by the elves. Dís hands Thorin his pack which he shares with Dwalin, his sword and, after he insists on it, Dwalin's axes too although her gaze makes it clear that she has noticed her brother's weakness and will keep an eye on him. Dwalin and Bilbo take the lead again and to their surprise they manage to get out of the central parts of the settlement unseen.

They only run into problems once they have to cross the final ring of guards stationed around the elven stronghold - as Dwalin had noticed earlier, the gaps are too small for all of them to go through at once and no matter how quiet they are trying to be, eleven dwarves aren't by any means a quiet bunch. The noise and light in the distance are still going on and there is faint shouting in the air, as if the elves are battling something. Dwalin can only hope that Gandalf is safe and indeed waiting for them at the agreed meeting point.

After a short whispered discussion between Bilbo, Dís, Balin and Thorin they decide that they will take their chances and try to slip through between the guards one by one. Thorin opts to go last so that he can see everyone of his Company reach safety and there is no question that Dwalin will stay with him. One by one the dwarves slip through and each time Dwalin hears the cracking of a branch beneath their heavy boots he prays that the elves haven't noticed anything. Their Maker, however, must truly be smiling down on them this night for none of them are discovered although Bofur almost gives himself away by stepping on a particularly large branch. But he hides himself well enough so that when one of the guards comes close he doesn't discover him.

Finally it is Thorin's and Dwalin's turn. One of Thorin's hands is still in contact with Dwalin's fur, drawing strength from the wolf's steady presence as they slowly make their way through the forest. The full moon that has risen over the horizon by now facilitates their task by making it easier to see the ground - but of course, the silver light also means a higher chance to be seen by the elven guards. Both Thorin and Dwalin only breathe freely once they have reached the safety of the forest beyond the elvenking's home, out of sight and hopefully earshot from the elven guards.

Bilbo and Dwalin allow no time for a break before they lead on - the more quickly they will get away from the elves' home, the better. At the latest when the shifts change the unconscious guards will be discovered and the alarm being sounded, signalling that their prisoners have escaped.

As promised, Gandalf is waiting for them at the side of the river, next to a large and crude-looking raft that is made of several tree logs fitted together. Next to him stands a tall man, taller than Dwalin has ever seen before and with a lot more hair than any normal man that he knows. There is something about him, in the way the he moves and especially smells - almost animal-like and the stench of bear is suddenly heavy in Dwalin's nostrils. The hairs around his neck are rising and a growl escapes his throat before he even knows why, but as soon as he does the man turns around, the gaze of his dark brown eyes drilling into his. Thorin's grip in his fur is suddenly a lot tighter, another shiver running through him and Dwalin knows his partner is feeling it too.

Gandalf introduces the man as Beorn, an old friend of his. Beorn's gaze travels over them one by one and it isn't too hard to read the thoughts going through his mind right now - he is clearly not pleased to be playing ferryman to a group of dwarves, a wizard and a hobbit. Almost immediately his gaze settles on Dwalin and Thorin again and once more Dwalin feels his hackles going up.

"Those two are different, Gandalf." Beorn's voice is a deep rumble, yet another feature that reminds Dwalin of a bear. The man advances towards them and Thorin's hand sinks towards the hilt of the sword that is attached to his belt as he is looking up towards him.

"This one is not wholly dwarf." Beorn makes a sniffing sound as if he would be _smelling_ Thorin and Dwalin growls again. "And this one isn't wholly wolf." he nods at Dwalin.

Thorin and Dwalin exchange a glance before Thorin starts talking, both voice and gaze challenging.

"And you are not wholly human either."

Beorn confirms his suspicion with another nod although, like Thorin, he doesn't explain himself any more, looking over to Gandalf for guidance on how to broach the subject. The wizard is untypically direct and Dwalin thinks that he is likely as keen to speed things up and get away from this place as they are.

"Beorn is a skinchanger." he explains to the Company. "It is a part of his blood and he can change into a bear whenever he wishes."

Dwalin is unable to hide the swift feeling of jealousy bubbling up inside him. Being trapped in one form and not being able to determine by yourself what you are at a given point in time is the worst about the curse. If he had the ability to change willingly into his wolf form...he might have even called it a blessing. He can see a similar expression flicker through Thorin's eyes and knows that the same thoughts are likely going through his mind as well. Gandalf, in the mean time, continues with his explanation.

"Beorn, may I introduce to you the Company of Thorin Oakenshield." He names every single one of their companions before he turns back to Thorin and Dwalin again. "You may have heard of those two before, long ago they were subjected to a curse by Smaug, forcing them to change form with each shift between day and night. You will find Thorin a raven at day and Dwalin a dwarf."

Thorin steps forwards as if he wants to say something and Dwalin can sense his partner's anger as clearly as his own. They have long since been guarding their secret, always taking care of who to tell about it and who not. For Gandalf to simply blurt it out like that without their leave...strangely enough, Beorn doesn't seem to be bothered at all by Gandalf having given away his secret. On the contrary, he watches their faces closely for their reactions and seems satisfied with what he sees.

"A curse then..." he muses. He thinks for a while longer, but then he finally seems to come to a decision.

"I do not like dwarves, I have never liked them. But you I find intriguing - and I also harbour no great love for the elves and even less for the orcs of the Lonely Mountain."

As if on cue, there are loud shouts sounding through the forest - the elves have finally realised that their prisoners are missing.

"We should hurry." Gandalf points out the obvious. Beorn relents and steps onto the dangerously wobbling raft, holding out his hand to assist the members of the Company onto the boat. To their surprise the raft holds them all if only barely - most of the dwarves are huddled in the middle of it, as far away from the water as possible. Their distrust of deep running streams and bodies of water runs deep and although a few of them can swim none would have dared to brave the swirling stream that is below their feet now. They are moving downriver and Beorn, seemingly completely unfazed by all the water, steers the raft with a sure hand. The moonlight illuminates the forest to both sides that is slipping past and the odd rock perched next to the riverside. Dwalin is hoping that they are going in the right direction towards Erebor, but if he has to be perfectly honest, every direction that leads them away from the elves is a good direction. Thorin, who is sitting next to him with one hand still securely buried in his fur, seems to be thinking much the same. At one point, however, he frowns and looks up to the sky that is still and inky black, not showing any evidence of the coming dawn yet.

"Will we arrive before sunrise?" To an outside observer it might have appeared that Thorin is asking a simple question, but Dwalin can hear the undercurrent of tension in it, a sentiment which he shares. Changing here, on a raft in the middle of a river and under the eyes of a stranger...the mere thought sends a shiver through Dwalin's body. Beorn turns around and musters them, his eyes drilling into Thorin's who meets his gaze calmly.

"Yes." he asserts quietly and then turns back to stare out over the river to look out for any problems that might lie ahead.

Thorin breathes a relieved sigh that probably no one but Dwalin can hear. Over the course of the journey down the river he can feel the tension slowly drain out of Thorin and leave behind a bone-deep weariness. The time in the cell is still weighing heavily on his mind and Dwalin isn't fool enough to think that a bit of warmth from him will manage to get rid of it immediately. He inches as close as he can, however, and knows his presence is doing Thorin good, as well as that of his sister who's sitting on his other side and casually leaning against him. For a moment he wishes he could take Thorin in his arms just like he did after Smaug took their home, in those nights when Thorin was unable to sleep, shivering and shouting after his brother, his parents, his grandfather. But he has learned long ago to banish such thoughts from his mind since they will lead to no result but his own frustration and unhappiness. Instead he sighs quietly and puts his head on Thorin's knee. His partner bring his hand up and rubs the fur behind his ears and Dwalin huffs in satisfaction. He hopes that time will do the rest and help Thorin heal.

After a while Thorin falls asleep from the soft rocking of the boat and the warmth of the dwarrowdam and the wolf next to him. His hand remains on Dwalin's head, a solid and reassuring weight and his head sinks over to the side until his cheek rests on the top of Dís' head who has fallen asleep on his shoulder. His dreams are likely neither bright nor good because Dwalin can feel him trembling and twitching and from time to time the grip of his hand suddenly gets tighter as he lives through whatever cruel world his nightmares are presenting him with. Dwalin feels himself drifting off as well when it becomes clear that the elves aren't following them and he can relax again.

Dwalin only wakes when Thorin stirs with a startled shout, rousing his sister in the process and the other dwarves in the process too, when the raft bumps against a makeshift dock at the riverside. The sky is already slowly getting lighter and there isn't much time left until dawn, but Beorn has kept his promise and brought them to safety before sunrise.

The man's eyes travel over their Company which looks ragged and still tired and he seems to come to a decision.

"You are welcome to rest in my house for today and the coming night." he tells them and it shows Dwalin how tired and shaken Thorin still is when it takes him a surprisingly short time to accept Beorn's invitation. None of the others speaks up against him and Dwalin realises that they all need a break, no matter how much they will have to hurry to reach Erebor later. Even Bilbo looks utterly exhausted and Dwalin can hardly blame him after the rough nights in the forest and the nerve-wracking events of the night.

The change comes upon them on the way to Beorn's house and thankfully no one questions their actions when Dwalin and Thorin split off from the group to venture deeper into the forest that is still surrounding them. Thorin's relief of not having to change in a small cell and within earshot of the elves is palpable, although he simply lies exhausted on the ground for a while after it is done, eyes closed. Dwalin only takes the time to put on the most necessary clothes before walking over to him and softly lifting the raven's body up into his arms. Thorin croaks and huddles closer to him, gently nuzzling his fingers with his beak.

"I'm sorry it took so long." Dwalin whispers and strokes Thorin's feathers when the raven makes a soft sound and just presses closer towards him. The bird's plumage seems to have lost a lot of its sheen and Dwalin notices that Thorin is missing several of his feathers. He thinks back of the black feathers littering the ground of the cage and he thinks he understands how Thorin has started pulling them out when the anxiety of the enclosed space became too much for him to handle. He sighs quietly and keeps running his hand through Thorin's plumage until the raven feels strong enough to fly again.

Dwalin puts on the rest of his clothes and picks up their pack whilst Thorin is sitting on a tree branch and has started to clean his feathers. The raven flies as soon as Dwalin starts walking and it's obvious how much he has missed freedom - he barely lands but keeps flying ahead and back, stretching his wings and croaking in quiet delight when the first rays of the sun glint of him. The flying, however, seems to exhaust him and he lands on Dwalin's shoulder again shortly after they rejoin the group. Beorn's eyes widen slightly when he sees the two of them but he makes no comment, just nods and leads them on towards his house.

His home is a large, sturdy-looking building made entirely of wood and, adapted as it is to his own body size, way too large for the dwarves. After a short meal consisting of bread, milk and honey, they all decide that they are in need for more sleep and with Beorn's approval, they stretch out on the hay covered floor next to several entirely too large animals that Beorn seems to be keeping whilst the man himself tells them he will go out and scout the surrounding lands to see whether any elves or orcs are about. Thorin has eyed the offered food with obvious disapproval but since there seems to be no meat in Beorn's house he settles with pecking at the bread on the dish in front of Dwalin. Normally he would sleep perched up somewhere where it would be harder for people to reach him but now he still seems to be in need for reassurance and warmth and as such settles in Dwalin's arms who pets him until they both fall asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

When Bilbo wakes up he finds that the dwarves are all awake already and for a moment he feels bad - it is them who have just spent almost a week in the elvish prison cells and who should be tired from their ordeal, not him. However, nobody seems to mind and when comes to the table they are all sitting around, Thorin perched on one of its edges close to Dwalin. Instead he is greeted with a wave of overwhelming friendliness. Now that they are all awake and not almost toppling over their own feet with exhaustion they all thank him and Dwalin profusely again, praising the fortune that has led Bilbo to come and live with them in the first place. Even Gandalf receives quite a few words of thanks after Bilbo explains the role the wizard has played in their escape. Beorn as well gets more than one word of gratitude which he accepts with a quiet nod, offering them more food in return that is once again made up from bread, cream, honey, milk, nuts and some fruit.

A large map is spread out over the edge of the table that Dwalin and Thorin are sitting at. Dwalin frowns as he is looking down on it. Dís gets up from her seat and walks over to stand next to him, glimpsing over Dwalin's shoulder and down at the markings on the parchment.

"Whereabouts in mirkwood are we?" she asks Beorn. The tall man comes over to them and taps with his finger on a spot right at the edge of the enormous forest. Bilbo can hear Dwalin, Balin and Dís breathe a relieved sigh and after a moment of looking on his own he can see why - Beorn has led them in the right direction and the distance towards Erebor seems to be much shorter than it was before they were caught if he remembers their route correctly. It also clearly means that they are on Smaug's lands now and he is puzzled for a moment before he remembers the bear form that Beorn can take at wish. Maybe Smaug is wise enough to know that he would just waste his soldiers in the attempt should he try and catch the man.

"How did you come to be captured by the elves?" Beorn's deep rumbling voice seems to resonate within the wood of his house itself.

Dís exchanges a look with Thorin who gives her a nod before she starts speaking.

"We were crossing the southern edge of the forest when three of our companions were taken prisoner by the orc Bolg, son of Azog." Beorn's gaze darkens at the mention of the names but he says nothing, just urges her to go on with a gesture. "We fought and killed him, but his death drew the elves' attentions towards us and we were overpowered. The elvenking told us that strangers were no longer allowed to pass through his lands; he also wanted to know where we were headed. Since we refused to acknowledge the former and didn't answer the latter he imprisoned us before the actions of Gandalf and two of our companions saw us free again."

"So you slew Bolg?" Beorn is suddenly much more animated.

"Yes." Dwalin cuts in. "His corpse should still be rotting in the forest if no one has taken it away so far."

"I have seen it myself." Gandalf offers and Dwalin turns around to him, eyebrows raised questioningly. "I was following your tracks after I had finished with my business and came across the corpse on the way."

Beorn seems to place more trust in Gandalf's word than in that of the dwarves and Bilbo can see the slight annoyance on their faces. But he accepts their claim for now, seemingly satisfied that they have killed the orc and now much friendlier in his demeanour towards the dwarves. There has to be more personal history behind him and Bolg or Azog than just a story, Bilbo thinks, but he doesn't dare voice the question connected to it. Surely it would be no good idea to bring back such memories.

"And where will you be going from here?" Beorn asks them. This time the silence between the dwarves is longer and the glances exchanged across the table more meaningful before Dís, as the official leader of the group now that Thorin is unable to talk, speaks out again.

"We are on the way to Erebor to regain our home." She had obviously decided to say the truth, although she offers no details on how they think such a task will be achieved. Beorn, however, is not so easily slighted.

"So you will kill Smaug, for he will never willingly leave the mountain he is sitting in now - and lift the curse that he has put on those two." He nods towards Dwalin and Thorin.

"Yes." Dís confirms simply, arms crossed in front of her chest and staring up at him as if to challenge the man to tell her that such a thing cannot be done.

"And how will you kill him? His magic is far too strong and terrible for you to resist it. I would have thought your brother had already advised you on that."

Dís' voice is pure ice when she answers and at this moment Bilbo sees the queen within her shimmering through, surrounding her in an aura both proud and regal. A true princess of the Line of Durin.

"Gandalf has told us that Smaug loses his magic during an eclipse, an event that will occur and fall on Durin's Day this year and we will be there on that day and see that he regrets the moment he set foot on our land."

"Is this true?" Beorn looks over to Gandalf who is sitting on a bench at one of the walls and smoking his pipe.

"Yes, to my best knowledge, it is." Gandalf confirms his earlier claim and Beorn's eyes widen slightly.

"Then I will give you all that you will need to reach Erebor safely. I would offer you my own help as well but I fear that my truce with Azog and Smaug is fragile as it is and it is hard to conceal a being of my stature."

Dís inclines her head graciously, her previous anger still palpable but visibly brought back under control.

"And we thank you for all the help you have given us. Rest assured that should we be successful and reclaim our home you will be richly rewarded."

Beorn smiles slightly at her words, seemingly knowing as well as her that the biggest reward they will be able to give him is peace from intruders and his own lands to live upon until he dies. He asks them what supplies they will need to get to Erebor and the dwarves including Bilbo discuss the issue for a while, settling mainly on food to replace that which has been lost during the attack of the elves. The discussion then quickly turns towards which path they are going to take towards Erebor and they are differing opinions amongst them - Beorn offers them use of their raft, but most dwarves are less than happy about using the river again, a place that will also make them more conspicuous and offers no possibilities to evade any sudden attacks on them should they come.

Another problem is how they will get into the old dwarven kingdom itself - Bilbo explains to them how he has escaped through the sewers but it quickly becomes clear that they aren't a good place for neither bird nor wolf. The wolf might drown when he has to swim and Thorin shivers visibly when Bilbo talks about how small and narrow many of the underground systems are. After his ordeal in the elven cells he would rather not return to such spaces. Flying to Dale into the mountain, however, is no solution either - Smaug has ordered all ravens and crows killed as soon as the curse had been spoken and there are none left now, every single guard having the order to shoot such birds on sight. They will also need their weapons inside, something that will hinder them enormously whilst swimming. There seems to be no solution to their dilemma until Bilbo suddenly has an idea.

"Let me go on ahead." he suggests. "By now nobody will remember my face anymore and I'm sure I'll be able to find someone to bring you at least inside Dale, Thorin. In my day there were a lot of smugglers around in and around Laketown who made it their job to bring all sorts of goods into Dale unseen. It shouldn't be too hard for me to find one of them now."

Dís frowns when she hears Bilbo's words.

"It's too dangerous, Bilbo." she tells him and Thorin croaks as the other dwarves nod in agreement. "What if someone recognises you? There is another way, I'm sure."

"But there isn't, is there?" Bilbo answers. "If there was, we would have thought of it by now. I promised you to do this and I won't go back on my word."

Dís shakes her head and is just about to voice another objection when Gandalf's voice rings through the room.

"I'll go with him." he announces. "I have been wandering in the lands around Erebor more than once and should not attract too much attention - and should Bilbo be attacked then I will be able to help him and get message back to you. I'm afraid Bilbo was right when he said that this was your only chance. Everything else would likely fail."

There is grumbling from the other dwarves and none of them looks truly happy about Gandalf's idea, but no one of them voices a complaint, knowing that he's right. Bilbo looks up to Gandalf gratefully and the wizard smiles back at him. It is true, he feels a lot better now that he knows Gandalf will be coming with him. Beorn offers to ferry them down the river towards Laketown. The large city that is stretched out on both the shores and the lake itself is inhabited mostly by normal folk but Dale, the city that lies directly in front of the mountain and had grown considerably during the years of dwarven reign, is already part of Smaug's home. He has cast out all the people who had lived in there previously and now the city houses mainly soldiers of both orcs and men and the servants that are needed to care for such a large number of people.

Erebor itself has become an impenetrable fortress - in the days of the dwarves its gates had always been open and most were welcome despite the guards posted at the entrance. Now the old dwarven kingdom houses mainly the prison, as well as Smaug and a few of his closest advisors and soldiers. Bilbo knows that the sewage networks connects Dale, Laketown and Erebor - during his escape he had swum through to Dale and left the place as soon as he had stolen some money by cutting the purse of an unsuspecting soldier's belt from behind. During Durin's Day the gates to Erebor are open and Smaug shows himself to the people, even if only for a short time. With some luck they might be able to get into Erebor then by hiding amongst the people that go inside to celebrate what had once been a dwarven holiday. It will be easier than using the sewers to get inside the mountain itself for Bilbo only knows the route back into prison and it would be an unfortunate place to end up in.

As such, the decision of how they will proceed is finally made and their minds turn to happier things. Beorn reveals to them the existence of a small bathhouse that he built adjacent to the main house - big basins that can be filled with water and heated with a fire from below. The dwarves seem to be delighted at the prospect of finally being able to clean themselves and Bilbo cannot say that he disagrees. He is sure he must be smelling abominably by now if the dwarves are anything to go by. Beorn goes out to start the fire and pump the water to fill the tubs. The dwarves all offer their help but he declines and when Dwalin and Thorin exchange a glance Bilbo knows that Beorn is not so different from them in his need for fresh air from time to time.

There are audible sounds of relief and enjoyment when the first group of dwarves lowers themselves into the wonderfully hot water. Soon, the noises sound like there is a water battle of epic proportions taking place in Beorn's tubs and Bilbo shakes his head since it is most likely exactly what is happening right now. The dwarves seem to make no difference between dwarrows and dwarrowdams when it comes to bathing and Bilbo finds himself frowning slightly when thinks about getting into a bath together with them. Somehow he feels it wouldn't be proper, although they are all urging him to join them. Instead he is waiting outside, listening to the dwarves bathe and wash themselves with a smile on his lips.

"You are no dwarf."

Bilbo almost jumps up from where he's sitting and turns around, heart hammering in his chest. Beorn is looking down at him with his arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised in wry amusement.

"No, I'm not." he replies, forcing his voice to sound calm. Beorn obviously seems to wait for him to give him more of an explanation and so he continues, somehow feeling slightly strange to explain himself to the man. "I'm a hobbit. My parents used to live not too far from here in Hobbiton before it was destroyed by Smaug."

He doesn't want to share anymore of his past than absolutely necessary and Beorn seems to understand. However, after a moment he frowns and looks over in the direction of the closed door behind which the dwarves are taking their baths.

"You find yourself in strange company, Bilbo Baggins. How come you are not with your own kind?"

"Because they are my family now." Bilbo only realises that it's true the moment that the words are leaving his mouth. He has never truly considered it before but when he searches his heart and looks deep inside him he knows he is speaking the truth. He almost regards them as kin now, every single one of them. They have given him a home again when he had nothing, have made him feel welcome and valued and he will never forget it. Yes, those dwarves are his family and he will stick with them whatever may come.

Beorn looks honestly surprised by Bilbo's answer, but he doesn't get around to replying because the door to the bathroom opens and the first group of damp dwarves tumbles out. Many of them start braiding their hair immediately after dressing in fresh clothes because, as Dori explains, it is much easier to get the strands to hold together when they are wet. Bilbo thinks that he will never stop being fascinated at how swiftly the dwarves' fingers seem to be able to move during braiding, with an agility that even he with his own quick hands can only admire. It is mostly siblings who are braiding each other's hair - Dori is doing Ori's, whilst Nori is weaving complicated patterns into her brother's hair. Óin is helping Glóin, shaking her head and murmuring when she sees the disarray that her brother's plaits are in. The braiding seems to be as much related to appearance as to simple reassurance - many of the dwarrows had been separated from their siblings during their time in the elvish prison and the simple task seems to help them strengthen their bond again, reassuring each other that they are still there for each other and everything will be fine.

Bofur, Bombur, Bifur, Balin, Dís and Dwalin are similar when they finally exit the bathroom and leave the last of the hot water for Bilbo to wash himself, immediately starting to comb and braid each other's hair as soon as they are sitting down. The sleeves of Dwalin's shirt are rolled up and Bilbo smiles when, on Dwalin's left arm, he sees the counterpart to Thorin's tattoo he had seen at Gandalf's place when he helped to hold him down as the wizard had pulled out the crossbow bolt. It is a wolf in the same geometrical design and after a moment Bilbo understands that the two would fit perfectly together if they could ever hold their arms next to each other, like two pieces of a puzzle.

Bilbo walks over to the bathroom and closes the door behind him and undresses as quickly as he can, groaning in pleasure as soon as the warm water is surrounding him. He can almost feel the tension and strain of the last few days seep out of him until he is completely relaxed and close to falling asleep, feeling as safe and secure as if he were still a young hobbit living in his parents' hobbit hole. It is only when there is a knocking sound on the door from outside and a quiet croak that he realises that he _has_ , in fact, dozed off, and there is now only a good hour until sunset left.

Thorin hops past him into the room as soon as Bilbo opens the door, feeling both refreshed and incredibly tired after the bath. He watches with amusement as Thorin chooses one of the largest puddles on the floor and washes himself in the typical manner of birds, ruffling his feathers and ducking into the water until he is wet all over. Thorin does so with obvious enjoyment and Bilbo catches the spark of mischief in his eyes when he hops out of the bathroom again, straight towards Dwalin and onto his lap where he shakes the water out of his feather with all his might, wetting everyone in his immediate surroundings.

"THORIN!" Dwalin bellows but his partner has already taken flight and is sitting on a high beam where the dwarf won't be able to reach. Bilbo doesn't quite believe his ears, but the raven sounds like he is _cackling_ and it doesn't take long until his laughter is reciprocated by the other dwarves. Dwalin shakes his fist in Thorin's direction but he is unable to resist for long and starts joining into the laughter after a moment.

The sun slowly sinks down towards the horizon whilst the last of the braids and hairdos are finished and Thorin is preening his feathers until his plumage is as shiny as it was before they have been taken prisoner by Thranduil's son. Dwalin also finally tells them about what truly happened the night that he had confronted Bolg, although as soon as he mentions the topic Thorin croaks and flies down to sit on his knees as if he wanted to reassure himself that Dwalin was indeed still there.

"I was scouting our surroundings in the forest and looking for Dori, Nori and Ori when I came across him." Dwalin tells them. "I didn't know he already had the Ri siblings in his power because I encountered him further away from his camp. I didn't step into any of his traps although it was a close call with so many hidden around there and he threw himself at me as soon as he saw the earring. It was a close thing but managed to escape him, but not before he had ripped out the earring. In my confusion and pain I was fleeing into the wrong direction within the forest and on my way back to the camp I met the others who told me that Thorin had already gone on alone to fight Bolg."

Dwalin's fingers are trailing over Thorin's plumage absent-mindedly, softly stroking the raven's back as he is talking and Thorin presses into him as if the physical contact could make him forget the terrible night. Bilbo notices it and wonders how often those two have been in a similar situation already and he shudders internally when he considers how many things have likely happened in their lives already that he has no idea of.

Thorin and Dwalin leave the house shortly before sundown and head into the forest again for their change, but both of them seem at ease when they come back and there is nothing left of the haunted look in Thorin's eyes that had chilled Bilbo to the bone when he had first seen him in his cell. Despite the strange noises from outside throughout the night their peace inside the house remains undisturbed. Before they all go to sleep Thorin pulls Bilbo aside.

"Thank you, Bilbo." he says and Bilbo realises that this is the first time he has actually called him by his name. Thorin smiles when he notices Bilbo looking slightly uncomfortable at his praise. "I didn't have the words to say it properly last night, but thank you for freeing us from the elvenking's prison. And thank you as well for what you are about to do - I know it cannot be easy to go back to the place of your nightmares. I know I speak for everyone when I tell you - you will always have a place amongst us, no matter the time or circumstances."

"Thank you." Bilbo replies, unable to find any better words for what he wants to say. "I will see you in Laketown in a few days."

Thorin smiles in reply and embraces him before he heads over to his sleeping place.

*

Gandalf and Bilbo leave them early in the morning, not long after sunrise. The entire Company has assembled at the river to see the two of them off and Thorin digs his talons into Dwalin's shoulder maybe slightly harder than necessary, hoping that the hobbit will be fine and they will indeed meet again in a few days' time. Dwalin reaches up to pet him as soon as Bilbo is gone, the touch of his hand as reassuring as always. Thorin knows that Dwalin, too, hopes that their hobbit will come to no harm. Everyone's spirits are slightly dampened when they return to Beorn's house to pack the last of their things before they, too will have to leave. Thorin sees Bofur talking to his siblings in a low voice and Ori's gaze following the shape of the raft down the river even after it has long disappeared from sight.

Beorn has gone on ahead to ferry the two of them down the river and push his raft back up once they have safely reached Laketown. The journey to the large city on the lake will take him a good part of the day and somehow Thorin is glad that he won't be back before they leave his place. This morning, he and Dwalin have seen Beorn change, more by accident than anything else. They had both sought out the quietness of the forest for their own transformation, far away from any prying eyes. The only thing they had both forgotten was that Beorn had been patrolling the forest in his bear's shape for most of the night and as such would find them fast. They had just completed their change when the bear's roar had shaken the ground not far from them and more out of reflex than anything else they had looked, seeing the beast transform into a man with the speed of a thought.

Beorn had faced them, quietly and without shame despite his nakedness - the noises of their transformation had not passed unnoticed either.

"So your change is accompanied by pain?" he had asked them.

"Yes." Somehow it hadn't seemed proper for them to refuse him an answer, not after what they both had witnessed. Dwalin's voice sounded calm and collected and only Thorin had known how the after effects of the transformation were still rippling through his body. At the same time, there was a strange connection between them as people who are neither fully one nor the other, but always living between two different worlds. Thorin wonders whether there are more of Beorn's kind, but he doesn't dare ask; the scars on the man's body already tell their own kind of story and from their shape Thorin can guess that it isn't a happy one.

"Make Smaug pay for it." It is all that Beorn told them before he stalked off in the direction of the house. Dwalin and Thorin exchanged a glance, unsure of what they have witnessed. Even now Thorin doesn't truly know and he feels relief that there will be no further need to talk of the two different natures within them.

The dwarves are all efficient packers and Bilbo has obviously learned from their efficiency - after a hearty breakfast they are all ready to go soon enough and Thorin flies ahead to scout out the path that they will take for the next for hours. In the beginning there won't be much need for secrecy, at least not until they are out of Mirkwood - the only things to look out for are elves and Thorin can't spy any of them on his flight. It feels good to spread his wings again and soar across the sky - perhaps he flies a little faster and higher than he necessarily has to, but the pure elation of freedom makes his heart lighter already.

The spirits of the Company begin to lift as soon as they leave the forest of mirkwood. They come out of it on a small plateau that shows gently rolling hills ahead, dotted with patches of forest, harvested fields, villages and the occasional lake but that isn't what draws their gaze. At the horizon looms the Lonely Mountain in all its glory and they all stop for a moment to take in its sight. Dwalin and Thorin have seen it before from time to time when they were wandering, but always from far away and never have they dared to venture closer. Now that their home is so close by...Dwalin's hand presses down a little more tightly on Thorin's feathers and he can feel the turmoil of emotions inside his partner. Dís, too has lifted her hand for physical contact with her brother, the slight trembling of her fingers telling him how much the sight of what she hasn't seen since she was a small dwarfling is affecting her.

"Our home." Balin says softly, his voice rich with emotion and a hand upon his brother's other shoulder. Thorin can feel his heart swell for one of his oldest friends and advisors and he is glad that Balin is able to see the mountain again before he dies, for better or worse.

Those of the dwarves who have lived in Erebor before and seen its fall are similarly affected and even those who are too young to have ever lived there feel the uniqueness of the moment in the air and are quiet, staring in awe at the mountain that they are doing all this for.

It is difficult for all of them to step away from the view that lies in front of them and continue on their path. They have to, however, for time waits for no one and they still have a long distance to cover before they will reach Laketown which lies close to the foothills of the mountain. It helps that they are getting closer to Erebor with each step they are taking and it almost feels like the mountain is pulling them towards itself by an invisible thread. Somehow it seems to Thorin that his companion's steps are lighter now, filled with the belief that they will achieve what they are longing for. He thinks of Bilbo and Gandalf and hopes that they reached Laketown and will be able to find a smuggler who can take him inside. They do not have all too much coin but it is still a considerable sum, one that should hopefully be enough to whoever they decide to give the task to. It is odd how much confidence he places in the hobbit by now but at the latest since he and Dwalin have freed them from the elvenking's dungeons Thorin knows Bilbo's worth. His words when he told him that he would always have a place amongst them hadn't been a lie, even if Bilbo might have thought otherwise from the incredulous look the hobbit had given him.

They split up their group again soon enough for the same reasons as before - smaller groups of travelling dwarves are much less likely to garner attention. Thorin and Dwalin are keeping entirely to forests and little walked side-paths now that the raven and the wolf scout out during day and night - anything else would be too dangerous and Thorin has already noticed that there are fewer and fewer ravens around until he is unable to find a single one anymore. He hopes fervently that none of his companions will manage to get themselves caught this time; but when they reconvene after a few days in the middle between Laketown and the Lonely Mountain all of the dwarves arrive within the same evening and he breathes a sigh of relief. They all look unharmed, although Bombur tells them about a rather close encounter with a troop of soldiers made up of both men and orcs and Ori chimes in to mention that he and his siblings, too, only narrowly evaded a patrol.

"They will only increase in density from here on, so try and be as careful as you can." Thorin warns them and is met by solemn nods from his companions. "If there is immediate danger, do not hesitate to hide and wait for a few hours - there is still enough time left until Durin's Day and would not see any of you harmed in haste."

"The same is true for you and Dwalin, brother." Dís tells him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "The two of you are, in fact, by far the ones in most danger since any of the soldiers would recognise you immediately should you cross their paths. You need to take as much care of yourself as we do of us and our companions."

Thorin turns around and smiles at her, taking her hand in his and squeezing it briefly.

"Of course I will." he tells her and Dwalin agrees with a huff and a quick wag of his tail. They spend the night together, sparring, telling stories of past deeds both glorious, sad and amusing and time seems to fly by. The next morning they separate for the last time before they will reach Laketown, choosing to meet again within a small forest that is the one closest to the town and where Gandalf and Bilbo had told them that they would await them.

The last bit of the journey is the hardest and more than once Thorin and Dwalin evade to be seen by soldiers by a hair's breadth. One time they are not so lucky, the loose troop of about four orcs coming upon them when they are eating their lunch. Dwalin kills three of them and Thorin one, his talons and beak causing a lot more damage than many suspect they could. He either goes after their faces or distracts the soldiers so that Dwalin can finish their task - and killing them they have to know, for they cannot risk information about them coming to Smaug's ears when they are so close to their goal. They hide the soldier's bodies and hope they won't be found until the next day when it will be Durin's Day and it won't matter anymore and Smaug won't care about the information that could be read from the dead bodies (such as the obvious claw marks on the skin) anymore one way or the other.

Thorin is a lot more nervous when they finally reach the small forest and wait for the others under the cover of night, hoping that all his comrades will arrive in time for Gandalf and Bilbo had promised to meet them towards midnight. Dwalin is prowling the forest for any eventual troops or spies whilst Thorin stays at the meeting point they have agreed upon and that Gandalf has described to them all in great detail.

Dís, Balin, Glóin and Óin are the first ones to stumble into their midst, out of breath and ragged, but seemingly unhurt.

"We had to run for a bit but I don't think they saw us." Dís explains between gulping down big lungfuls of air, seemingly glad that her brother seems to be fine as well. Dwalin confirms her observation when he comes back moments later, showing no sign of nervousness that would indicate that they have been followed. Balin fondly pets his brother's head and the wolf presses against his legs, moving on to Dís and the other dwarrows after a moment and greeting them in a similar fashion.

Dori, Nori and Ori are the next ones to come and they, too, look haunted although not as out of breath as the ones before them had been. They tell them of a small encounter with soldiers two days ago that they have been able to evade successfully and Thorin begins to hope that all of his companions will make it here safely.

The Ur siblings are the last ones to arrive and it is obvious that they have had it the worst - Bombur is bleeding from a gash on her back and both Bifur and Bofur have one or two smaller wounds to show. They tell them that they have been surprised by a troop of soldiers earlier that day just as Thorin and Dwalin were, with the only difference that the one they came across had been much larger in number. They had barely made it out alive although they, too, have killed everyone of the soldiers who had attacked them so that they would not be given away.

Now they are all waiting for Bilbo and Gandalf to find them and the tension in the air is palpable. Óin is fussing over Bombur's wound and patching up the others as well as she can, but even her task cannot divert the attention away from their nervousness for too long. When the hobbit and the wizard finally appear from the shadows of the forest there is an audible sigh of relief from everyone around and they are greeted with much happiness that they seem to be hale and whole. Only Dwalin is growling at something past them in the woods until Bilbo places a hand on his head.

"It's fine, Dwalin, the man is with us." He makes a gesture with his hand and signals the man who has been hidden by the darkness of the night and waiting at the edge of their small clearing to step closer.

The flickering light from their one torch reveals long limbs, a shabby coat and a haggard and serious face. Thorin and the man are eyeing each other, neither of them impressed with what he sees, when Bilbo finally introduces him.

"Everyone, this is Bard, one of the smugglers of Laketown. He has agreed to bring Gandalf, our weapons and our raven into Dale in the early morning of tomorrow as the festivities will officially start at noon and there will be a lot of traffic in and out of the gates of Dale. Bard, this is Thorin Oakenshield and his Company, the dwarves I told you about."

"At your service." Thorin inclines his head minimally into Bard's direction and after a moment of hesitation the man returns the gesture. He has of course noticed that Bilbo hadn't told him of their transformation and approves of Bilbo's choice. It is a far too important a secret to simply give away.

"At yours." Bard replies. With a gaze towards Bilbo he adds: "You spoke of money. I hope these dwarves hold what you have promised."

Dwalin's hackles are raised and he emits a low growl next to Thorin, drawing Bard's gaze towards him. The man frowns but he doesn't waver and Thorin quietly has to give him credit for it even though he doesn't like his attitude. Interesting how men presume the dwarves the greedier of the two when many of them are just as bad.

"As Bilbo has likely told you, it will be half upfront and half after you have completed the task. What sum did you agree on?"

Before Bilbo can answer, Bard steps forward and narrows his eyes.

"This was not the bargain I was told about. The entire sum, now, or you can go look for another smuggler although I doubt you will find one."

Thorin feels the familiar bubbling of anger inside him and he knows Dwalin is no different. With a gesture that is meant to calm the wolf he sets a hand on his head before looking over to the hobbit. He will have some explaining to do.

"Bilbo?" he asks.

"I tried to explain but he wouldn't come under any other circumstances." Bilbo admits, looking slightly ashamed. "The punishment for smuggling has increased a lot recently and there are only few of his trade left by now."

Gandalf nods, looking slightly unhappy himself. Thorin frowns and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"One half now and the other tomorrow, as soon as you and our weapons are inside. We would be poor traders if we would give away all of our money in advance to someone who hasn't proven trustworthy to us as yet."

An angry spark flares up in Bard's eyes when Thorin calls him untrustworthy and his steps towards him is brought up short by a deep growl from Dwalin's throat. Despite the threat, however, his voice has lost none of its rigour when he replies.

"My family needs the money and my work is dangerous enough as it is. I will not risk my life in your foolish venture just to see my children left with less than is their share should I not return."

A father's will and protectiveness speaks through his words and Thorin can feel his heart soften a little, especially when he thinks of his own nephews.

"If we handed the remaining money to Gandalf and would have him stay with your children in your absence, would you be willing to accept?"

Gandalf's eyes narrow at Thorin's words but he remains quiet. Despite the curse Thorin still knows how to drive a bargain although he doesn't do it too often. Glóin is the best amongst them at it, but right now he feels that it's important that he presents himself as the leader of their group.

Bard thinks about his suggestion for a while and Thorin begins to think that he will call off their agreement when the man finally nods.

"It's settled, then." The man holds out his hand and Thorin takes it.

"It is settled." he confirms. They both shake hands and neither of them is hiding the strength in their grip. Bard's gaze flickers over to Dwalin again who is still standing next to Thorin, posture alert and eyes fixed on the smuggler.

"And how will you bring in the wolf?" he asks.

"Let the wolf be our concern." Thorin answers him and doesn't offer any other words on the topic. Bard doesn't ask any more, either, but his gaze is still curious and he often looks over to them when Glóin is counting out the money from the funds they have brought, according to the price that Bilbo has been able to bargain for them. The man nods quietly when the correct sum has been paid and tells them the point they will meet at not long after dawn the next morning.

Gandalf pockets the second half of the money when Glóin gives it to him and tells Bard that he will come with him now, turning around to bid the company goodbye.

"I hope your venture succeeds, Thorin." he wishes him sincerely. His next words are more quiet so that Bard won't be able to hear them. "Long shall the King Under the Mountain reign again in his rightful place and form."

The pressure of his hand when he briefly squeezes Thorin's shoulder and pats Dwalin's back is warm and despite some of his misgivings towards the wizard Thorin hopes that they will meet again. Gandalf proceeds to wish every one of their Company luck until at last he is standing in front of Bilbo, hesitating only a moment before embracing the hobbit.

"And all the best to you, Bilbo Baggins and that we may meet again today and under much happier circumstances!" Bilbo only hugs him back and wishes him all the best, too, straightening his shoulders once he steps away from him.

Bard and Gandalf disappear back in the direction of Laketown after Gandalf has finished his goodbyes and good wishes for them all. Bard's purse is now a whole lot heavier than before and more so than Thorin ideally would have liked. But if this is the only price they will have to pay to regain their home then so shall be it.

Nobody truly finds sleep that night, the anticipation of what is to come much too strong. Dwalin prowls throughout the small forest around them all night to guard them from unwanted visitors and Thorin sleeps fitfully, close to his sister who's steady presence is at least a little reassurance. When the familiar pull at his insides finally wakes him from the dozing state he was in it suddenly flickers through his head that this might be the last morning that he has to endure the change. The thought gives him strength and he can stifle the sounds of agony that he makes when his body is transforming once again.

Dwalin picks him up as soon as he is dressed and holds him close, fingers softly trailing over his feathers.

"Today." he says softly. "Today it's in our hands."

Thorin croaks quietly and rubs his head on his partner's hand, making Dwalin smile in response. Today they finally have the chance to set things right again and Thorin can only hope that their plan will work. They spend a few more moments together, both of them knowing that those might be the last ones they might have between the two of them before their deaths should things go badly.

They have to hurry though, or they will miss their appointed time with Bard. It's still slightly unclear to Thorin how much Bard actually knows of their plan and what they intend to do once they have reached Dale, but he suspects that Bilbo hasn't told him overly much about it, for fear the man could give them away.

Bard is already waiting for them at the meeting point, sitting on the front of a small wagon that is pulled by a rather old and ragged looking horse. If he notices the changed dwarves and that Thorin and the wolf are missing, Bard gives no sign of it although Dwalin eyes the wagon with suspicion. Bilbo shoots him an apologetic glance and then opens the covered back, revealing several casks and a rather large cage sitting between them.

Thorin croaks in angry dismay and protest at the sight of the cage and Dwalin growls, sounding suspiciously like the wolf inside him is trying to break through. Dís takes in a sharp breath behind them and Balin looks more than unhappy, just like the rest of the Company.

"I'm sorry, I know you don't like cages, Tho- Durin." Bilbo quickly corrects himself before he says the wrong name. "But the cage is the only way for you to get in. Any other way and the guards would suspect something was wrong and kill you on sight thanks to Smaug's order. We hope they won't open the back of the wagon, but if they do...we can always tell them that we are delivering the one raven their master has been searching for for so long.

Thorin has to admit that Bilbo is right, but he still feels slightly queasy when he looks at the iron bars, knowing that he will be unable to escape and completely at the mercy of others during his time in there. Dwalin looks down at him, brows furrowed in worry.

"It's your decision, Durin." he says softly and Thorin shakes out his feathers, thinking for a few moments. But he knows he doesn't truly have a choice and with a defiant croak he stretches his wings and flies over to the cage.

"Are you sure?" Dís asks her brother and Thorin nods. She sighs and walks over to him, running her hand through his feathers and rubbing his favourite spot under his chin.

"Take good care of him." she tells Bard and there is iron in her voice. Thorin knows that she wishes nothing more than to be able to accompany him, but he also knows that it's all but impossible - dwarves haven't been seen in Laketown or Dale for several generations of its short-lived inhabitants and any of them would immediately attract suspicion, especially perched atop a wagon being driven inside the city walls.

"And the weapons?" Dís demands to know after she has had a second look around the inside of the wagon. "Where will the weapons go?"

Bard just walks over and shoves one of the barrels aside, knocking on the wood beneath.

"Right below. Nobody has managed to find this secret compartment yet. Let's hope it'll stay like that today, for, as you might now, weapons are strictly prohibited inside Dale and Erebor on this day."

He gives them the offered oilskins that Bilbo has managed to wring from him as well so the dwarrows can wrap make their packs and make them as water proof as possible. In turn he takes their weapons and puts them all into the secret compartment and Thorin has to admire the craftsmanship that must have gone into devising it. It's as good as invisible from outside.

The goodbye from Thorin is harder and more emotional than the one from Gandalf yesterday for all of them and Bard watches with a curious expression on his face as they all take turns in petting the raven and offer murmured words of comfort and loyalty. Dwalin is last and he hugs Thorin tightly against his chest.

"I'll see you later." he tells him quietly and Thorin makes a soft sound, pressing against him as closely as he can. Finally Dwalin steps back and Thorin hops into the cage, ignoring the feeling of suffocation slowly rising up inside him, especially when Bard closes first the door to the cage and then the flaps that cover the wagon and Thorin is caught in a strange half-dark as only a little of the light falls through the heavy canvas. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the voices outside, forcing his breathing to remain calm.

Dís warns Bard again to take care with the raven and he describes the abandoned house in Dale where he will leave Thorin and the weapons so that the dwarves can find them after they have made their way in through the sewers. Then the murmuring of his company's voices becomes more quiet as they walk away and Thorin wishes for a moment that at least one of them would return and stay with him, but of course they can't. The wagon shakes as Bard climbs up on the driver's seat and takes up the reigns of his horse. A moment later it begins to move, rocking worse than Thorin thought it would. He croaks quietly and tries to find purchase somewhere, but his talons find no halt on the metal floor and he ends up being thrown back and forth between one end of the cage and the other when the wagon does a particularly bad lurch.

It doesn't take long for Thorin to wish that it would finally stop. The confined space seems to be closing in on him and he can feel his breathing become laboured, the urge to dash himself against the metal bars becoming stronger by the moment. He still resists it, trying to find distraction by focusing on keeping his balance amongst the trembling of the floor, but it isn't easy and when the wagon finally comes to a standstill he doesn't even realise it at first, concentrated on his own breathing and keeping his sanity intact as he is.

As he becomes aware of the voices outside again he sits up a little straighter in his cage, trying to listen and discern what is going on. There is a buzzing of different noises from outside and Thorin knows that they must be somewhere amongst people now, maybe close to Dale already since he seems to have lost all feeling for time. He can hear Bard's voice being raised above the others now, obviously in answer to a question.

"I bring wine for the lord's feast tonight, and ale for the soldiers." he says.

"Only wine and ale, Bard? Nothing else?" From his mocking and sharp tone Thorin infers that it is a guard the man has to be talking to and concludes that they are indeed at the city gates leading into Dale now.

"Nothing else." the smuggler confirms, his voice steady.

"I don't believe you, Bard." Thorin can almost hear the headshake in the man's voice and his insides clench. "Open the carriage."

"Alright, if you insist..." Bard sounds mildly annoyed and not the least bit afraid and Thorin has to admit that the man is a skilled liar. He braces himself for the sunshine and the noise of the city so he isn't completely overwhelmed when it hits him. Nonetheless, he acts as if he were mindless with fear, playing the role of the wild bird Bard has caught as best as he can. He doesn't have to pretend overly much, cawing madly and throwing himself against the bars of his cage, his wings slamming against the iron again and again. Over all the ruckus he is creating he can barely understand the first guard's voice whilst the second one is leaning into the wagon to inspect the barrels stacked all around Thorin's cage. Thorin hopes he will be able to distract the man from looking beneath the fake wooden floor of the carriage with the little uproar he's creating.

"What do you carry around a bird for?" The first guard wants to know, just as the second one looks more closely at Thorin and makes a sound of surprise.

"It's a raven!"

"A raven?" The guard's voice becomes suspicious and Thorin holds his head still for long enough to see that one of his hands has moved to the sword at his side. The bird inside him starts to be overwhelmed with fear, suddenly remembering the pain in his shoulder when the crossbow bolt had struck it and it costs Thorin all his strength to remain calm on the inside. The second guard is moving towards him now, but as soon as his hand is close enough Thorin pecks after him, forcing his beak through the bars as far as he can. The man shouts out and retracts his hand, one of his fingers bleeding where Thorin has caught his skin and a momentary feeling of satisfaction wells up inside him.

"I thought Smaug had ordered all ravens killed." The first guards is sounding even more suspicious now than a moment ago but at least Thorin's attack has kept them from probing the wooden boards beneath the casks.

"He has." Bard nods, still as calm as if it were an everyday occurrence that he has been found with a raven in the back of his carriage. "This is a special one and I think the lord would want to see him personally. Found him nosing around on my window still the other day and remembered how we've always been ordered to catch them. Thought he might want to have a look and kill him himself, seeing that this one has all blue eyes like he said to watch out for."

So Bard knows in all likelihood that it is Thorin who is sitting in the cage right now and another wave of fear sweeps over him. What if he will sell him out now? Just give him over to the soldiers so they can hand him to Smaug to do with him whatever he wishes?

The two soldiers exchange a glance and nod, relaxing slightly.

"So you are on your way towards Erebor then?"

"Yeah." Bard nods. "And I'm being expected. You know how little the orcs like it to be left waiting."

The guards shoot him a sympathetic glance.

"Well, then you better get going. Won't do well to leave them waiting, will it. They're even more twitchy since news got back that the commander's son was found killed in Mirkwood. They say dwarves did it..."

"Dwarves?" Bard snorts. "They've been long gone from these lands. Like as not, the orc has probably brained himself on one of his own traps."

Thorin has to suppress a snort when Bard comes so close to the truth and is yet so far away from it.

"Don't be overheard saying that in Azog's presence." The first guard cautions him and the three share a quick laugh before Bard climbs back up on the driver's seat to get the carriage moving again.

Mercifully the ride is much shorter this time and it doesn't take long until the wagon comes to a halt again and Bard pulls back the canvas a second time. His first action afterwards is to open Thorin's cage and Thorin is unable to conceal the wave of gratitude running through him when he hops out and stretches his wings. They are in a back alley that borders on an abandoned building, the same one Bard has told them about earlier. The smuggler has already wretched the door open and Thorin eyes the twilight inside with approval, knowing it will hide him and the weapons well from prying eyes.

"You _are_ Thorin, are you not?" Bard asks him, eyeing the bird critically. Thorin stares back but gives a small nod after a moment. The smuggler has, in a way, saved his life just now even if he is being paid for it.

"And the wolf was the other dwarf." Bard shakes his head. "I never thought the legends were true. So you have come to try and kill Smaug?"

Thorin nods again, ready to escape should Bard try and grab him to hinder him.

"By all rights I should take you and present you to that dragon." Bard mutters angrily and Thorin stretches his wings, ready to fly and get away. "You won't be the first one to try and I can tell you now that your quest will end in nothing but grief and death."

He starts unloading the barrels over the fake floor one by one and Thorin keeps watching him, ready to bolt at any moment.

"It's not my place to judge how you choose to die, however. I just hope you won't take any others down with you."

Thorin cocks his head, wishing he had a voice to speak to Bard and tell him that there is more hope than he thinks there is. Bard takes out a wooden crate from the bottom of the carriage, puts it down inside the building and opens it. Taking care to make as little noise as possible he starts dumping the weapons into the empty crate, closing it again as soon as he is finished and putting the casks back into the carriage. The birdcage he leaves, too, and Thorin eyes the iron monster with disdain as he puts it down on the ground next to the crate again.

"My task here is done." He nods in Thorin's direction. "No one should come in here throughout the day, but still, keep in the shadows and remain quiet. Your companions should hopefully arrive soon."

Bard hesitates a little before he adds the last words.

"I wish you luck, although I doubt we will see each other again."

Thorin croaks in reply and inclines his head slightly at the smuggler. Despite his hopeless words the man has kept to his word and proved himself honourable enough. Should Thorin and his company succeed he swears to himself that he won't forget Bard and what he has done for them.

For now, however, it is back to waiting.

*

Dwalin wrinkles his nose. His heightened senses have often come in useful in the past, but right now he wishes he could just cut his nose clean off. The stench is abominable, almost making him gag in its intensity and a quick look around him shows him that the others aren't off that much better. Balin is wading through the knee-deep brown sludge in front of him with his shoulders hunched and likely wishing himself far away from here. Behind him Dori makes a face as if he had just found Nori's mud-covered clothes in his washing basket again.

Bilbo seems to be the only one who is affected relatively little by the smell and the unpleasant surroundings around them. It's likely because he has walked here before or maybe he concentrates more on remembering the way then noticing his surroundings - whatever it is, he stubbornly trudges on ahead, only turning around occasionally to see whether everyone is still following him. The first part of their journey had been a rather unpleasant swim in the cold lake and Dwalin still shivers when he remembers it. The cold is still sitting deeply inside his bones. Bilbo had seemed glad once they found the entry to the sewers and after an inquiring glance from Dwalin he had told them that, when he escaped, the tunnels had been filled over his head with water so that he had been forced to swim all the way through them as well.

At least now they can sort of walk although the underground is treacherous and Dwalin doesn't even want to think about what his bare feet are touching right now. At least his boots won't be ruined, but remain dry in the oilskin slung over his shoulder so that he can put them on later again. He has lost every feeling for how long they have been going already, but he hopes they will be there soon. Whenever he thinks of Thorin locked in the cage in the back of Bard's wagon his heart clenches and he hopes fervently that his partner has arrived safely in Dale already and is waiting for them there.

After what seems like an eternity Bilbo finally calls out to them to stop, pointing to a small tunnel to their right, its opening on height with Dwalin's waist and so small that they will likely have to crawl through it. Dwalin's eyes narrow in distaste.

"Such a small tunnel? Are we supposed to crawl through it?" It's Glóin's who raises his voice behind him, obviously less than happy about the next part of their travelling route.

"I'm afraid so." Bilbo answers apologetically. "But it isn't far. We should be coming out in that abandoned building Bard told you about, the one where Thorin is hopefully waiting for us together with the weapons."

Glóin murmurs something under his breath but remains quiet otherwise, even though he and his sister are still eyeing the tunnel disdainfully. None of Dwalin's companions looks any happier about it until Dís rolls her eyes and steps forward, knotting her bundle so it lies securely on her back and hefting herself up into the hole.

"I hope you were right and it _really_ isn't far, Bilbo." she calls back towards the hobbit.

"It isn't." Bilbo replies and as if to reassure her he is the next to enter the small tunnel and the other dwarves follow him one by one. Dwalin is suddenly glad that Thorin isn't with them - he would have hated it in here with the darkness and the closed space now surrounding them. Bilbo was right, however, and after a short while they reach a wall with a few iron steps in it, leading upwards to a point of light not far above them that turns out to be the toilet in the abandoned house. All of them are glad to escape the tunnel and Dwalin is even happier when he hears a croak and, shortly after, the beating of wings in the air.

Thorin lands on his shoulders and rubs his head on his cheek and Dwalin reaches up to pet the raven - only to have Thorin recoil from his touch, eyeing his dirty and no doubt smelly fingers with disdain.

"Right. Sorry." Dwalin murmurs and proceeds to wash his hands with some water from the flask in his pack. He splashes some water in Thorin's direction with his fingers and the raven croaks indignantly, stretching and flapping his wings so that he 'accidentally' hits Dwalin on the back of his head, cackling quietly when Dwalin just snorts and rolls his eyes.

Dís and Balin come up to them to rub Thorin under the chin and pet him as well and the relief in their eyes that he's still alive is palpable. Bilbo looks at them and smiles before checking that the weapons are indeed the box Bard has left. When he walks over to them he wrinkles his nose.

"You should get changed."

Dwalin looks down at his mud-encrusted clothes and bare feet and thinks that Bilbo is right, not to mention the smell as well. The rest of the group quickly follows his example as they shrug out of their dirty clothes and use the rest of their water to clean themselves. Dwalin is thankful now that his and Thorin's pack contains a complete change of clothes for himself and it doesn't take him long to put the new ones on. Their old clothes they all leave in a heap in a corner of the abandoned building, figuring that it will be no use if they would keep carrying them around - they likely won't need them again this day anyway, for better or worse.

Bilbo leaves for a moment and reports that the first people have already arrived and are slowly moving towards Erebor which means the festivities are about to begin soon. Over a quick final meal together they discuss how they will get into the mountain and decide that it will be best if they try to mingle with the mass of people and go one by one, Thorin hidden under the folds of Dwalin's cloak. Bilbo hopes that by now the commotion about his escape in the previous year has died down and he will be able to slip through the crowd more or less unseen, especially by the guards. His worst fear is to be recognised by former friends - however, there is little he will be able to do about it, apart from hoping that the cloak he brought for himself will serve to deter most glances in his direction.

After they are all dressed and ready to go Dwalin looks over them one last time and he can't help but hope fervently that the crowd will protect them from the eyes of the guards, both orcs and men. Although they have all tucked their beards into the front of their cloaks and hidden their weapons, it is still obvious that neither of them are children and quite a few of them are too tall to pass for Hobbits, including Dwalin himself. Maybe they should have taken the sewers again to get inside Erebor but now it is too late to do so and besides, the problem of them emerging in the middle of the prison still exists.

Bilbo is the first to slip out with Balin and Dís following shortly behind. The Ri siblings are next, followed by Óin and Glóin and, finally, the Ur siblings. Dwalin and Thorin are last and Dwalin squares his shoulders, taking a deep breath before he steps outside. There is a considerate amount of people on the streets now and the buzz from all their voices is overly loud in Dwalin's sensitive ears. He can feel Thorin pressing closer on his arm under the cloak and runs his thumb over the raven's plumage in a gesture that he hopes will help to calm him.

The moving people form a steady stream in one direction and Dwalin's breath stutters in his lungs when he sees the mountainside looming over them now, the large gates of Erebor slowly coming into view.

 _Home_.

He wishes Thorin could see it, too, but he won't risk him being discovered, not before they are inside the once so splendid dwarven kingdom. The two large statues of dwarven warriors that had once flanked the entrance have been torn down, probably long ago as Dwalin notes with a sting in his heart. From Bilbo's tales he knows that the main festivities always take place in the Hall of Kings, the giant entry hall right after the gates, more than large enough to house all the people from Laketown and Dale. The wizard will present himself on a dais that has been raised towards the end of the hall, effectively blocking off most side exits into the mountain, making it difficult for anyone to wander more deeply into Smaug's home itself.

They pass the first set of guards unnoticed, keeping towards the middle of the large stream of people where they will be harder to see. Dwalin's ears catch sentences being flung back and forth between the people and he grinds his teeth when he hears them talking about dwarves - 'it's true, Arlen, I saw them with my own eyes, two of them, small and with beards, just like in the tales' - hoping that their foolish chattering won't give them away.

All goes well until they want to pass the final barrier of guards, those that have taken up watch directly at the gates where the crowd is forced to divide into several smaller streams to pass through. Dwalin has almost gone past them when one of the guards suddenly gives a shout and two soldiers, an orc and a man, are making their way towards them. The crowd parts in front of them, not willing to risk their lives for the sake of one poor soul that has managed to somehow procure the wrath of the guards.

They don't lay hands on Dwalin, not yet, but their weapons are raised and it is clear that they mean no good. Dwalin presses Thorin closer to himself to keep him from doing anything stupid. He can already see the others waiting beyond the gate, Dís' brow furrowed in worry. The dwarves are slowly making their way back towards Dwalin and Thorin and he shakes his head to signal them that there is no immediate danger yet.

"Show your face." one of the guards growls and reaches out to yank the hood of the cloak from Dwalin's head. He steps back to avoid the avoid the grabbing hand and in doing so, one edge of his cloak flaps open.

"A weapon, he has a weapon!" the guard growls. "Take him!"

Dwalin curses loudly in Khuzdul and he can see the other dwarves running towards him. He opens his cloak, revealing both the raven, Thorin's sword and his axes that he has been concealing.

"Thorin, go!" he shouts and watches with satisfaction as the raven lunges at the first of the guards. His own axes make quick work of the second and Dwalin is suddenly grateful for the mass of the people that hinder the other guards in advancing towards him as he runs into Erebor. Many of the people give way to him, too surprised to know what is happening although he hears the call of "Dwarves! They are dwarves! And a raven!" being taken up by many of them.

There is only way they can go now: forwards. And so the entire company starts pushing towards the dais where Smaug is supposed to appear shortly. Dwalin can hear the calls being taken up by the guards stationed around the room and can see a few of them already making their way towards them, brutally flinging the people in their way aside.

All the members of the Company have their weapons raised now, including Bilbo who is clutching the sword Dís made for him. It isn't far until the dais and Dwalin thinks they might be able to make it when another set of guards appears directly in front of the stage, effectively closing the circle around them. Thorin croaks from his place on Dwalin's shoulder and is about to take flight and throw himself at them when a voice suddenly calls out, bringing everything to a halt with its sheer volume.

"Stop!"

A loud shriek loosens itself from Thorin's throat and Dwalin is just quick enough to grab him and keep him from attacking the one who has appeared on the man-high dais. A growl comes deep from within his own chest when he recognises the golden eyes, red clothes, dark hair and the predatory smile stretching over the man's face.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On to the last chapter! Congratulations if you've made it this far, yay! I hope the last chapter won't disappoint.

"Smaug." Dwalin whispers and all the hate inside him that has accumulated over the years pours into the name. The people around the dwarves are slowly shuffling out of the way, leaving them alone in a circle surrounded by soldiers.

"So the dwarves have come back for another fruitless attempt." Smaug's smile is all teeth and greed.

"Yes." Dís steps forwards, to the murmur of the crowd and the soldiers. The pride of a queen lies like a mantle around her shoulders. "We are the dwarves of Erebor and we have come to reclaim our homeland!"

"Ooooh you must be his sister." Smaug's cold eyes bore into Dís' and the malice in his gaze makes Dwalin grip his weapon more tightly. Thorin croaks, anger seething from every single one of his feathers.

"And there is Thorin. And, of course, Dwalin." Smaug continues and Dwalin would have thrown himself at Smaug right then and there, the memories of their last encounter still vivid in his mind, if it weren't for Balin's hand on his arm.

"And we will get back what you have taken from us." Dwalin hisses at him. Smaug laughs at his anger and Dwalin feels cold fury coil in his stomach, so intense that it almost seems like a living, breathing thing.

"Ah, but you will not. Or have you forgotten how successful you were the last time you tried?" Smaug's eyes are travelling over the rest of their company again.

"I am almost insulted that you did not bring more warriors with you, Thorin." Smaug's smile is there again, and Dwalin can see the sharp teeth lurking behind his lips. "Instead you brought me children, miners, old ones...and, I see, even a hobbit, likely the one who has managed to escape my prison last year."

Dwalin applauds Bilbo's courage in his mind when the hobbit doesn't even so much as flinch when hit by the full weight of Smaug's gaze. His insults seem to aggravate the others as well but they yet have themselves under control and he is proud of every single one of their companions. No matter what Smaug might say, they are all more than worthy to be here with Thorin and him.

"Such a pity. I might have enjoyed this much more if I had better opponents."

"Then why are you not using your magic against us?" Dís calls out to him. "And curse as all, like you did Dwalin and my brother? Or could it be that you don't _have_ any magic today like we were told?"

A flicker of insecurity seems to sweep through Smaug's eyes and it gives Dwalin heart. Gandalf's information must have been right after all.

"Why would I need to use magic if I can let my soldiers do all the work?" Smaug replies. "There is no need to sully my fingers, especially when I have someone waiting who would like to talk to you regarding his son's death."

A gesture of his hand and the ring of guards around them parts. Dwalin bares his teeth in a snarl when he sees who is stepping forwards. There is a dangerous, almost mad expression in Azog's face and his eyes light up in fury when he lays sight on Dwalin and the raven on his shoulder. Dwalin is barely able to restrain Thorin and he gives up on it when Smaug finally speaks again.

"Go and get them. Make sure the bald one and the raven come to me alive; kill the rest."

Thorin lunges himself at Azog with a loud shriek and it's his luck that the orc isn't carrying a crossbow this time, so their fight is much more even. Dwalin roars and follows his partner into battle whilst the other dwarves fan out, weapons raised and clashing with the soldiers with battle screams of their own on their lips.

Dwalin is running in Azog's direction, always keeping an eye on Thorin as he is viciously attacking the orc's eyes and trying to evade Azog's blade and hands at the same time. A large orc steps into Dwalin's way, blocking his view on Azog. The next moments he's busy trying not to be captured himself, surrounded by shouts and the clashes of metal on metal and the occasional shriek from Thorin's throat.

When he finally catches sight of Thorin again the view has changed - Dís is now helping her brother, Bilbo at her side and between the three of them they are slowly managing to push Azog back bit by bit.

"We have this, Thorin!" Dís shouts at her brother. "Go after Smaug. Go!"

The raven looks at her and with a last loud croak and flash of his beak in the direction of Azog's eyes he dashes of in the direction of Smaug himself who is still standing on the dais and watching the events below him unfold with a grin on his face.

"No, Thorin, wait!" Dwalin calls after him, knowing that even without his magic, Smaug is a terrifying foe. A moment later, however, he sees what Dís' intention was. Thorin attacks Smaug mainly with his talons in his usual tactic of going after his eyes. At that moment Dwalin knows that Gandalf as right, especially when a first bloody groove appears on Smaug's cheek. If the wizard could use magic he would have done so by now. So instead of running after him this very moment, he takes a moment to turn on his heels and speak to the people in the room in a voice as loud as possible.

"Do you see? Smaug has no magic today. He is defenseless!" There is a lot of noise around him and he isn't sure that they have heard, but suddenly someone else picks up his call and he sees Bard amongst the people, wide-eyed and in awe of what he is seeing right now.

"He is right!" Bard shouts. "Look at Smaug, he is bleeding!"

His words stir the crowd more than Dwalin's have done and Dwalin notices with a grim smile how more guards are being hindered from entering the room by a mass of people surging against them, suddenly a whole lot more courageous than before. It is a testimony to how unloved Smaug is amongst his people that nobody tries to help him. On the contrary. Dwalin is sure that, would they have been given weapons, many of those around him would have started turning against Smaug's soldiers.

Before throwing himself into the fray again and trying to get to Thorin Dwalin takes a moment to survey the situation. All of his companions are heavily engaged in fighting, but they are all still standing and none of them seems grievously injured. Dwalin notes with some pride how well the different sibling fight together, even Dori and Nori who he had to force to practise together. They form reliable teams and seem to trust each other blindly with what they are doing, just like true warriors are supposed to do. Bilbo and Dís are still fighting against Azog whilst Balin is keeping their backs free and it looks like they are not doing too badly although the orc is proving himself a strong foe once more.

Thorin is still attacking Azog, his angry shrieks so shrill that Dwalin can hear them even over the noise of the battle. He moves towards his partner again, trying to take out all the soldiers between them so he can get to Thorin's side as soon as possible.

Then there's a scream in the air and Dwalin looks up from the orc whose chest he has just buried an axe in just in time to see Smaug dropping his blade and pressing a hand to one heavily bleeding side of his face, one of his eyes obviously destroyed. Thorin cries out in triumph and Dwalin feels a wave of elation surge through him at the sight. Smaug roars again, this time in obvious fury and his healthy eye fixed on the bird. Thorin, drunk with almost-victory as he is, doesn't see the hand shooting out and grasping him. Dwalin shouts a warning but it's too late, Smaug's fingers closing firmly around one of Thorin's legs and taking hold of it, despite Thorin angrily hacking at his hand with his beak and leaving deep wounds in his flesh. Smaug tries to grab hold of the raven's body with his other, bloody hand and finally catches hold of a wing. Dwalin thinks he can hear the fragile bones inside it snapping already.

"Thorin! No!" Dwalin shouts after him and his desperate screams reach Dís and Bilbo's ears who are closest to Smaug and Thorin.

Thorin is struggling more wildly now and Smaug, his sense of balance already disturbed by the loss of his eye, topples and falls off the back of the dais, Thorin going down with him. Dwalin hears another shriek from Thorin, this time full of pain, and he roars his partner's name again. Bilbo's eyes widen and after exchanging a quick glance with Dís he leaves her alone to deal with Azog and scrambles up the stairs to the dais as fast as he can, grabbing a dead soldier's sword in running as he goes after Smaug and Thorin.

Dwalin listens for more sounds but it is quiet behind the dais, too quiet. His heart seems to plummet down into an abyss.

 _Thorin_.

Not now, not when they are so close to their goal, not when Smaug is already wounded, not when they are inside Erebor. He screams and puts all his fury and desperation forward into the one scream, refusing to think or acknowledge what has happened. He cannot be dead. No. And so Dwalin gives himself to the fury and bloodlust he had still been holding back, lets the wolf inside him take the reins and watches as the beast demands blood whilst the emptiness inside his mind is slowly unfurling. He pays little attention to Dís or his own brother who are now both fighting Azog, Dís' eyes still widened in horror about Thorin's fate and her head whipping around from time to time to look at the now empty dais.

Dwalin feels his gaze cloud as he falls more deeply into the bloodlust, shouting both Thorin's name and Smaug's, mixed with Khuzdul words and howls of wordless rage and despair as he becomes blind and deaf for anything in his vicinity that isn't his enemies in front of him. Some of the soldiers actually step back from him although he doesn't even notice, intent on reaching the large platform that Smaug and Thorin have toppled from and behind which Bilbo has disappeared now as well. The blades of his axes are stained red and he doesn't even feel the drops of blood spattered on his face and dripping from the small wounds he has received.

When he finally reaches the stairs to the dais he is panting with exhaustion and effort although he still runs up towards the platform, taking two steps at a time. Dwalin doesn't even look as he dispatches the two soldiers behind him with a swing of his axe, gaze levelled forwards and fixed on the point where he last saw Smaug and Thorin. He runs up to the edge of the dais, distantly noting a second set of stairs that leads down onto the ground again from the back of the podium.

His eyes widen, disbelief spreading in his mind like ink on paper.

"Thorin." he whispers.

*

Dís hasn't seen all that happened but she hears her brother scream in pain and then Dwalin's terrified shouts and the next time she looks up both Thorin and Smaug are gone from the dais. A cry rises up in her throat, knowing what must have happened especially when she hears Dwalin roaring a second time and sees the despair and pain bleeding onto his features. Then Azog's blade descends down on her again and her attention is yanked back to the foe in front of her. She blocks the orc's stroke and steps to the side, thrusting forward with her own sword and trusting Bilbo to do the same.

The hobbit follows up with a slash of his own, looking over to her and gesticulating at the dais. It dawns on Dís that the two of them are the closest to the platform and so most likely to be able to help Thorin should her brother still be alive. She gives Bilbo a quick nod and concentrates on Azog again who has noticed their momentary distraction and almost decapitates Bilbo hadn't she caught his blade with her own.

With a shout that she puts in all her fury over own pain, her family's pain, the rage at everything that the orc has ever done to them and her, she swings her axe in a might arc that misses Azog's arm by a hair's breadth and rips a deep slash into his chest. Azog stumbles back, a roar of pain escaping him and she grins wildly, feeling the blood that splattered from the wound run down the side of her face.

"You have more spirit than I thought, dwarf." Azog growls in her direction and there is the flare of madness in his eyes, the pain from his wound just intensifying it.

"You will never again touch one of my family." Dís hisses and with another guttural scream she raises her axe and attacks Azog anew. There is a shout behind her and she knows that Balin has come to her help, his white beard swinging wildly in the periphery of her sight. Her world shrinks as she bans all other thoughts from her mind that are not herself and her foe. Azog is a good fighter, not only possessing the advantage of brute strength and size as she had originally thought, but also having more than just a little skill. Despite the wounds she and Bilbo have managed to give him he doesn't seem to get tired, the swings of his broad blade precise and dangerous.

Dís cries out when the tip of his weapon slices through her clothes and bites deeply into the skin of her forearm, but she doesn't relinquish the grip on her own weapon, ignoring Balin's shout somewhere to her side and instead takes a step towards the orc. Her axe nearly catches him in the thigh, but he pulls back at the last moment, stepping around her to bring the blade down on her now unprotected side. Balin stops it just in time, giving Dís the chance to follow up on her previous thrust and give Azog another deep wound on his leg. He roars and charges after her again, stunning Balin momentarily by throwing him against a stonen column next to them. Dís' arms quiver under the impact of his blade and she grits her teeth as Azog's weapon keeps smashing down on her with unhindered ferocity.

He slowly starts pushing her into the defensive and Dís is trying in vain to advance against him again. However, she yet manages to block and evade his blows, her eyes following his every movement and waiting for an opening to strike. Time seems to stretch and she doesn't notice what is going on around her as she focuses entirely on bringing down her foe. Dimly she realises that Balin is slowly coming back on his feet again, but her main point of focus remains with Azog and the blade in his hand.

She evades another thrust from Azog's side, twirling to bring more momentum behind her own weapon and charging at the orc again. Azog's eyes suddenly widen and Dís thinks she has hit him when he notices he is staring at something behind her, teeth bared in a snarl. She doesn't turn around even though she wants to, but instead decides to use his one moment of inattention and pursue her advantage. With a scream she buries her axe deeply in the orc's side and Azog's attention snaps back to her, too late for him. He stumbles backwards and Dís roars again, jumping after him and slashing another deep wound over his chest.

Azog falls, slashing blindly with his large blade and Dís gives him another wide smile with bloody teeth, bringing him to fall when she ducks under his weapon and shatters one of his kneecaps with the blunt side of her axe. Dís stomps on his wrist until he finally relinquishes the grip on his own weapon and swings her axe so that it sinks deeply into his throat and chest. She locks her gaze with his, watching as the light slowly leaves his eyes in grim satisfaction.

"Never. Again." she growls and hopes that this is the last thing that he will hear.

Dís wrenches her axe out of the orc's body after he is dead, not minding the blood spattering all over her. Now that the momentary elation is over she can feel her own wounds starting to ooze pain into her awareness and she stumbles slightly. A hand catches her arm and she looks up to see Balin, his face beaming with pride, satisfaction and something else that she can't quite place yet. A quick look around her proves that the fall of their leader has discouraged many of the soldiers to keep from fighting on and Nori, Dori, Glóin and Bombur are currently dealing with those who would prefer to follow Azog to the next life.

The rest of the soldiers, her companions and most of the people in the hall are staring at the dais that is behind her and she finally turns around to see, too. Being caught up in the fight with Azog as she was she hadn't noticed how the room had slowly become darker. The light falling in from outside through the slits in the front wall has been dimming until only the numerous torches are illuminating the vast room. She remembers Gandalf's words and his talk about an eclipse, where both day and night exist at the same moment for a short period of time.

Her eyes widen when she catches sight of the podium and those standing on it and she finally understands why Azog has been so surprised by what he has seen.

*

Bilbo sees Thorin and Smaug fall over the side of the dais and he realises that only Dís and he are close enough to be of any help to him. Thorin's shriek pierces the air and a cold arrow of fear lodges in his heart as he remembers all too well the sight of the raven caught by Azog's crossbow bolt.

He gesticulates and exchanges a quick glance with Dís once he has caught her attention. It is clear that the same is running through her thoughts, so he gives her a nod and hopes fervently that she will be able to deal with Azog without him. He knows she is a capable warrior and he felt like he had done little to aid her in the fight against the orc so far apart from distracting him for the dwarrowdam to strike and giving him several smaller, shallow wounds.

As he is running up onto the dais he grabs a second sword from a solider lying unmoving on the ground, keeping in mind what Gandalf had said about the eclipse. Maybe an eclipse would turn both Dwalin and Thorin into dwarves at the same time...or both of them into animals, although Bilbo hopes the latter won't be the case. The light has already started to dim slightly, but there is still ample falling into the hall yet.

There is another set of stairs leading down the backside of the platform and Bilbo comes to a halt only briefly on top of it when he sees the two forms at the bottom, running down the steps as fast as he can. The impact of the fall must have dislodged Smaug's grip on Thorin for the raven is on the ground a few feet away from him, croaking in dismay. One of his wings is bent at an unnatural angle which makes it clear that it must be broken. However, unlike the last time he was wounded Thorin doesn't seem to be overcome by fear, the pain in his eyes mixing with fury as he slowly hops closer towards Smaug. The wizard is lying on the ground, blood still seeping from his destroyed eye and for a wild moment Bilbo hopes that the fall might have broken some important bones or that he is dead.

However, Smaug is very much alive and groans as Bilbo is running down the stairs, his hand running down his side in search for a second blade. Bilbo hurries past him, drops the extra sword and picks up Thorin who makes a weak attempt to free himself from his grip and croaks angrily when Bilbo doesn't let him go. Smaug groans again and is now drawing himself up to his knees, the gaze from his remaining eye slowly focusing and fixing on Bilbo. The hobbit withstands the pressure in it, refusing to look away although the sword in his hand is trembling just the tiniest bit. Thorin croaks again and pulls at the cloth of Bilbo's shirt with his beak, obviously urging him to let him down. Bilbo is almost tempted to do it for he would have a much better grip on his sword with both hands, but he also knows that Thorin would likely start attacking Smaug notwithstanding the fact that he can't even fly anymore.

Smaug seems to have found a second blade on his person for he draws it with a quick movement of his hand and twirls it in his fingers as he slowly approaches Bilbo.

"You." he hisses and a trickle of fear goes through Bilbo. "Thief. You have caused me enough problems already. It's time for you to die."

Bilbo doesn't reply, but just grips the sword that Dís has forged for him more firmly. Thorin is struggling more and more in his arm now until Bilbo has no choice but to put him down. To his surprise the raven doesn't immediately move in Smaug's direction but away from the two instead and close to the sword that Bilbo has dropped to the ground earlier.

Smaug frowns and the moment of uncertainty in his face gives Bilbo courage. He grips his sword with both hands now, waiting for Smaug to come at him. Deep down he knows that he has little chance of victory against the wizard for even without his magic he is a fearsome opponent. Maybe, however, he can stall and hold him off Thorin for long enough for any of the others to arrive and help him. All of a sudden Smaug lunges at him with another hiss and it takes all of his skill for Bilbo to deflect his first blows. There is no hope of attempting an attack himself because Smaug is faster, faster than anyone else he has ever fought against or trained with. His thrusts come quick and in a flurry of movements and it's all Bilbo can do to try and keep up with him, avoiding the worst wounds on himself.

In the middle of their fight Smaug's eyes suddenly widen and he steps back. Bilbo uses the unexpected break to catch his breath until he hears the groans coming from beside him. They don't truly sound like they are coming from a raven anymore and he can't help but call out Thorin's name when he sees what's happening. The distant thought that the eclipse must be in full force outside now flickers through Bilbo's mind and for a moment he is unable to take his eyes off Thorin.

The raven is changing.

Bilbo will never forget the quick glimpse he catches of it for the rest of his life before he turns back to Smaug. Thorin's limbs are stretching and he thinks he can almost hear the grinding of bone on bone as they change form and size, his skin looking almost liquid as it transforms together with his body. The raven's feathers are slowly disappearing and giving way to hair and skin. The one thing that burns itself into Bilbo's mind is the utter pain in Thorin's eyes that seems to drown out everything else before he closes them in an effort not to cry out.

A smile of sheer malice flickers over Smaug's face and Bilbo throws himself at him again, desperate to give Thorin enough time to complete his change. If the wizard were to attack him now in his most vulnerable state the dwarf would have no chance of surviving. He and Smaug trade another few blows and Bilbo can feel the viciousness in Smaug's attacks, the absolute desire to kill and bend the world around him to his will. He is even harder pressed to keep up with him now and Bilbo finds himself praying that help would come soon.

As if someone has heard and answered his prayer, a voice suddenly rings through the air and he sees Dwalin standing at the top of the stairs, posture rigid and eyes wide as he stares down at him.

"Dwalin." The voice is rough and when both Bilbo and Smaug turn their heads towards its source. Thorin is still trembling from the violence of the change, but he has already pushed himself to his feet, the random sword Bilbo had taken from a soldier earlier gripped firmly in his hand whilst his other, obviously broken, arm is pressed against his chest. He is also stark naked and despite the absurdity of it Bilbo feels a blush creeping up his neck.

Dwalin rushes down the steps, fumbling with the straps of the pack on his back the same moment that Smaug lunges forward towards Bilbo again. His blade sweeps down in a wide arc and Bilbo reaches out to parry it. Smaug, however, changes the direction of his attack within the space of a single breath and the blade grazes Bilbo's forearm before he can bring up his own weapon to divert the attack. Dwalin, now without a pack on his back chooses this moment to sweep in and help Bilbo whilst Thorin is presumably getting dressed.

Between the two of them they manage to hold off every one of Azog's attacks and it doesn't take long for Thorin to join them with a battle cry on his lips, now dressed in a loose shirt and trousers and with his own sword in his hand. Bilbo leaves the fight to the two dwarves, realising that he is more likely to get in the way between the righteous fury of the two that they direct at Smaug now. They aren't quite attuned to fighting together again yet, not having done so for over a hundred years, but they still seem to have a natural sense for what the other is doing.

Under their combined assault they slowly force Smaug up the stairs to the dais again and Bilbo wonders whether this is a calculated manoeuvre on their part to demonstrate to the people in the hall that their leader is indeed without his magic powers this day. There are calls from the crowd as soon as they emerge on the platform and Bilbo notices immediately how much the scenery has changed. There is still twilight in the room and he hopes the eclipse will last long enough for the two dwarves to finally kill Smaug and rid themselves of the curse that he has laid upon them.

Most of the dwarves apart from a few of the Company have stopped fighting together with many of the soldiers. A loud cry to his right attracts Bilbo's attention and he watches as Dís kills Azog, a sight both terrifying and liberating as the dwarrowdam buries her axe in the orc's throat and looks up to the dais covered in blood. Her face lights up first in surprise then in joy when she sees her brother alive and not caught in a bird's body anymore and Bilbo follows her gaze back to where the two dwarves are still fighting Smaug. Thorin must be feeling the pull of the next change already as the eclipse slowly wanes and there are pearls of sweat on his forehead as he keeps pursuing their advantage against Smaug. Dís is holding back the others from running up onto the dais and joining into the fight likely feeling the same as Bilbo does, that this is something Dwalin and Thorin have to do themselves.

It seems to give both dwarves strength to fight next to each other and Bilbo can see them stealing little glances at one another as if they cannot believe that the other is still truly there. Their ferocious assault, however, seems to be paying off, together in combination with the blood loss from the destroyed eye that has likely weakened Smaug. The wizard is stumbling and his movements have already become slower.

The eclipse is drawing towards its end now and suddenly Thorin convulses in pain, stepping backwards. Smaug's eyes light up in triumph and he steps after him, disregarding Dwalin for a moment who uses his chance to come up on him from the side and plunge his sword deeply into his shoulder. He twists the blade and frees it as Smaug topples backwards and falls to the ground, Dwalin kicking the wizard's own weapon out of reach as soon as it leaves his fingers.

Smaug screams and Thorin heaves himself upright again at the noise although the outline of his form is rippling, limbs and body beginning to change and Bilbo can see small black dots appear on his skin that have to be the first sign of his feathers. Thorin cries out in pain as he lifts his sword and buries it to the hilt in Smaug's chest and the wooden dais below, almost collapsing over the hilt of his own sword after it is done.

Bilbo thinks he can see the exact moment that the life goes out of Smaug. It's like a great weight is lifted from both Dwalin's but especially Thorin's shoulders and the subtle changes in his form, the rippling of flesh, twisting of limbs and formation of feathers suddenly stopping as the wizard passes from one life into the next. It almost feels like a sigh is going through the room when Smaug lies still and Bilbo looks around to see faces filled with awe and surprise all around him. He still cannot quite believe it himself, that they have truly achieved what they have come for, that the curse is broken and the dwarves will finally have their home again, but another look at where Dwalin is now lowering himself to his knees next to Thorin who is still bend over his own sword confirms it once again.

Smaug is dead.

*

Thorin stares down at the corpse of the one he has hated for so long and feels nothing. The moment is too big, to enormous and all-changing for his mind to truly comprehend within a few heart beats. One moment he had felt the transformation starting to rip him apart again, had thought that he would turn back without having had the opportunity to kill Smaug. The feeling had stopped abruptly, his skin, muscle and bones snapping back into place as if the change had never started.

His one hand is still clenched around the hilt of his sword as he is kneeling besides Smaug's corpse as if it's the only solid thing he can hold on to. His other arm has started hurting again now that his mind isn't being flooded by other senses and his own breathing is resounding loudly in his ears.

"Thorin." Dwalin's voice is quiet and he doesn't even hear it the first time. Only when Dwalin speaks his name again the sound reaches his ears and he turns around.

Dwalin is crouched down to the floor next to him and reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly.

"Dwalin." Thorin whispers. ' _We did it_.' a part inside him wants to shout. ' _We killed Smaug_.' But all that comes out is a low sound and then their fingers touch and he suddenly finds himself in a tight embrace with the one who he has missed for so long.

He clings to Dwalin as if he never wants to let go of him again and feels him do the same, little shivers running through both their bodies. His broken arm is wretched uncomfortably between them but he doesn't care, closing his eyes and taking in the feeling of Dwalin's body so close to his, of his warmth that he can feel with his own skin now, the coarse hair of his beard tickling his chin and the sensation of muscles moving beneath the fabric he's wearing.

Dwalin pulls back after a while and takes Thorin's face between his hands, putting their foreheads together. His fingers rub over Thorin's cheek, tracing the line of his jaw and up to his ears and down his neck, his grey eyes filled with wonder. Thorin's good hand is almost a mirror image of Dwalin's, tangling itself in his beard, following the wrinkles that appear beside his eyes as he smiles.

"Thorin." Dwalin whispers again and he says his name like it is the greatest gift he has ever been given. "You're still- you're _here_."

Thorin feels a helpless little laugh bubble up inside him and he can't help but smile widely.

"I am." he agrees and laughs again. It is still so strange to be able to touch Dwalin, to be able to answer with words when he speaks to him and for a moment he feels like a dwarfling again, about to discover something new with each new moment.

He doesn't know how long he has been kneeling on the dais, always in a connection with Dwalin as if they have been fused together. His feet and lower legs are already beginning to be soaked in the blood that is slowly spreading from under Smaug's corpse. Someone else calls his name and he knows he cannot stay like this forever even if he wants to.

He turns around, the fingers of one hand staying firmly intertwined with Dwalin's. Dís has walked up the steps unto the dais, the rest of the company behind her. All of them look tired and are covered in blood, but the joy in their faces is unmistakeable, especially when they look at their king. Thorin slowly stands up and walks towards them, ignoring the little sting of fear that tells him that as soon as he loses touch with Dwalin he will wake up and it will all have been nothing more than a dream. Their fingers disentangle although Dwalin remains closely behind him, so close that Thorin can still feel the reassuring weight and warmth of his presence in his back.

"Dís." he smiles at her and wraps his arms around his sister. He doesn't even know who presses more tightly, her or him, but it doesn't matter.

"Thank you." Thorin whispers in her hair. "Thank you, sister, for everything."

Dís pats him on the back and laughs quietly.

"Shut up." Thorin can hear the slightly quivering note in her voice and when he looks at her he thinks he sees her eyes shining wetly.

He hugs them all, every single one of their company, and tries to express his gratitude although mere words seem much too ordinary to do so. These dwarrows have done more for him than he ever could have imagined and he hopes that they and their families will all find a new life in Erebor that they are comfortable with. Thorin tells them that he would not have made it here without them and it is the truth - they have all done their bit, even if it was only mundane tasks throughout the journey. But without their fighting power and encouragement he would not have prevailed, especially not today, and he promises both them and himself that he will never forget what they have done for him. He knows that Dwalin behind him is doing the same, exchanging embraces and words with the company, doing his part of thanking them all.

Balin and Bilbo are the last two he comes to and after Balin has listened to his words, he squeezes his shoulder and smiles wildly. He, too, seems to be close to crying.

"I'm so glad for you, laddie." he says and his voice is quivering slightly. "To be back here in those halls, home again...I never thought I would live to see those walls again. Thank you."

And, with a twinkle in his eyes and an inclination of his head, he adds: "My king."

Thorin inclines his head, too, quietly accepting the words. He still doesn't truly feel as a king should; he has helped to rule his people for most of his life, yes, but most of it was still from the shadows. That they have followed him at all is almost a miracle, with his presence being restricted to only the evenings and nights of many days. The one who has led them through the past century has been Dís who had grown into her role better than Thorin could have ever hoped. She has always used her power wisely, conferring with advisors and himself when it was needed, but soon enough he had trusted her to make her own decisions and take many matters of ruling into her own hand. He will have to think about it just how much it truly means for him to be king and whether his sister wouldn't be better suited to the post now that the mountain is theirs again.

Whilst embracing his Company he tries to keep a mental count of their injuries too and he is glad to discover that it seems like his earlier assessment had been right. None of them have carried away overly serious wounds although more than one, including his sister, seems to be on unsteady legs. The most grievous injuries are already hap-hazardly bound to stench the worst of the blood flow, a task that Thorin guesses goes on Óin's account during the time that he had been busy trying to come to terms with the situation that both he and Dwalin were possessing the same form again. The ones who seem to be off worst are Bifur and Glóin who are both sitting on the ground, the former with a deep shoulder wound where the blood already starts seeping through the bandages and the latter with a deep slash across his forehead that gives him a rather savage appearance. Thorin calls out to Óin again and tells her to care for them as soon as possible. Thankfully the dwarrowdam has most of her medicinal implements with her, securely wrapped at the bottom of her pack.

The last one to stand in front of Thorin is Bilbo. He looks ragged and tired, out of breath from fighting and running from place to place. His eyes are shining, however, and he looks as if it was his own home that they just regained. In a way, Thorin supposes, it actually is - he is certainly willing to offer Bilbo a place in Erebor if he wants to stay here.

"Bilbo." he steps forwards and smiles at the hobbit and Bilbo mirrors it with a smile of his own that is spreading over his face.

"Thorin." Bilbo the replies. "I'm so glad that you-"

Thorin doesn't let him finish but crosses the last bit of the distance between them to draw him into a tight embrace which he feels the hobbit return immediately. Afterwards he doesn't let go completely, gripping one of Bilbo's shoulders firmly with his good hand and meeting his eyes with his.

"Thank you." he tells him earnestly. "Without you, we wouldn't be here. Mahal, without you I wouldn't even be _alive_ right now and this isn't the first time that you have saved my life. I- _we_ will never be able to repay you for all that you have done for us. Whatever you wish for, it is yours if it is mine to give."

Bilbo looks slightly flustered as always when Thorin thanks him for something.

"I didn't do that much." he says quietly. "But what I did, I did because I wanted to. Thank you for trusting me and making me part of your family. Maybe, if all this is over..."

His voice trails off and Thorin smiles again.

"If you wish to live with us in Erebor or in Dale or Laketown - you don't even need to ask. Tell us and we will try to make it possible."

"Erebor would be nice." Bilbo tells him hesitantly, knowing that he asks something so far unheard of amongst dwarves.

"I'm sure my sons will be delighted." Dís says behind Thorin and he turns around, smiling at her. It occurs to him that he has probably been smiling more in the past few minutes than in the entire decade before. It feels good.

"And my children too." Bombur adds, grinning wildly. The entire Company, even Bifur and Glóin, are standing around Bilbo and Thorin now, Dwalin so close to Thorin that their shoulders are touching, and everybody seems to be smiling at their hobbit.

Their companionship is only interrupted when a voice sounds out behind them.

"Master Dwarf!"

Thorin turns around and sees Bard stand at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the dais. A quick glance around shows him that most of the people are still here, seemingly unsure of what they are supposed to do now. A few people of more practical disposition have decided to strip the soldiers, living as well as dead ones, of their weapons and bind the hands of those that are still alive. Their movements tell Thorin that Smaug and his henchmen were none too-well loved amongst their folk; however, he sees more than one man and orc who has seemingly laid down his weapons willingly and is returning into the arms of his family and friends. Smaug has likely forced them into his service and Thorin cannot fault them for taking the opportunity to leave.

"What will happen now?" Bard demands to know from him. Thorin mentally kicks himself - in the frenzy of battle and the wonder of what has happened afterwards he had almost forgotten about the people still waiting and he forcibly reminds himself that for them, the situation is much more ambiguous than for him. They know nothing save that someone they do not know and have never seen before has just killed their ruler. For all they know, Thorin might be as bad or even worse than Smaug was. He walks forward until he stand at the edge of the dais, facing the crowd in front of him.

"You have nothing to fear from us." he tells them and sees more than one frown on the faces of those he is addressing. Only then does he realise the way he must look to them - ragged and bloody, his hair hanging in disorderly strands around his face, with bare feet and only wearing a single loose shirt and pair of trousers. Thorin grimaces internally, knowing that there is little he can do about it now. He will have to persuade them with words and not his appearance.

"My family and I have lived here before Smaug's coming and we always had good relations with the men in Laketown and Dale, both places prospering from the trade from the mountain. I do not know how much wealth is left after Smaug's time here, but I promise you this - whatever we can spare, we will use to help you return the cities, especially Dale, into what they once were."

He can feel Balin nodding encouragingly next to him and knows he is on the right path when he sees the faces of the crowd slowly soften, the almost perpetual expression of fear slowly vanishing. He hadn't even noticed just how afraid those people had been so far.

"We promise that those who have committed crimes in Smaug's and Azog's name will duly be dealt with and that Dale will return from soldier's city to a home for families and traders as it once has been. Our folks have lived together peacefully and in goodwill before and I would see it happen once more."

The first people begin to shout their agreements and Thorin feels that he has gained their approval. Dís steps forward besides him and, after a short glance at him she adds:

"I do not remember much from my time in the mountain for I was young when our kingdom fell and most of my family was killed. But my brother is right - what I do remember are days of prosperity, days of _peace_. Together, we will see those days restored so that your children will be able to play in the streets of your towns again without fear."

Thorin sees a lot of the people in front of him nod and watches with satisfaction as his sister's eyes seem to start glimmering in the light of the torches around them. Dwalin stands slightly behind him, his chest touching Thorin's shoulder and suddenly everything feels right.

*

The cold wind is blowing steadily when Dwalin and Thorin ascend the side of the mountain. It is late summer and soon it will have been a year since they regained Erebor. New caravans of dwarves returning to the mountain are arriving almost daily and everyone has their hands full with the restoration and trying to accommodate the new arrivals. They have both kept their need for freedom and fresh air from the decades of the curse and on most days they will end up outside at some point even if it is only for a few moments on the battlements to inspect the ongoing work there.

Today they have decided to climb the mountain as far as they can get; the last days leading up to Dís' coronation yesterday have been hectic and now that everyone, even Bilbo, seems to be sleeping in kudos to the copious amounts of alcohol consumed the evening before they have taken their chance to finally take some time for themselves. They have both become used to a lot of things but the fact that they drink little in terms of alcohol hasn't changed from their years under the curse, not yet.

Sometimes when Thorin feels the wind tug at him like it does now he misses the days that he could fly and feels an almost physical desire to spread his wings again and soar higher and higher against the sky with nothing surrounding him than air. However, it only takes him a single look at Dwalin to know what he has gained by losing it and he knows the price was worth it. _Any_ price would have been. Some days he still cannot quite believe it, has to steal a touch from Dwalin just to reassure himself that they are both there, they are both dwarves, that they are both _real_ and this isn't just another dream of his.

It is almost midday when they finally reach the little platform high up on the mountain that is looking out over Dale, the Long Lake, Laketown and all the settlements in the lands surrounding the mountain until the borders of Mirkwood in the distance. Their fingers intertwine and for a moment they just take in the view around them whilst they are catching their breaths. Only when the sweat on their faces has dried a little they sit down and unpack the lunch they had been able to salvage from the kitchens this morning. They don't speak much whilst they are eating but it is a companionable silence, one they have been used to since over a century ago.

It was something they both had to learn again at first, to have true conversations with one another. Too often they would interrupt each other or leave sentences trailing off, like they had been used to when only one of them could truly speak at a time. Like so many other things, however, it has been a joy to learn for both of them and as much as they are often quiet they also simply sit down and talk now, sometimes for hours on end.

After he has finished eating - yet another thing Thorin has had to learn again, to be able to eat and especially drink whatever he wants now that his stomach doesn't change at sunrise and sunset - he rummages around his back and pulls out a little wrapped parcel. He carefully unwraps it and reveals the cookies he had managed to find in the kitchens this morning. Thorin grins when he sees Dwalin's face light up at the sight of them.

"You'll never change." he laughs when Dwalin's hand immediately moves to grab one of them.

"And _you_ still remember what my favourites are." Dwalin grins back, cookie crumbs stuck in his beard all around his mouth.

"How could I forget." Thorin murmurs more softly. "You stole them all the time when we were little and you've practically been begging your brother every day to make them for you once we had founded a new settlement."

Dwalin's eyes twinkle in amusement.

"You're leaving out the best part of the story though. I remember a certain raven who would always steal them, sometimes right out of my mouth."

Thorin laughs again.

"Stop lying. I might've done it a few times, but-"

"All the time." Dwalin interrupts him. "You were one hell of an impertinent bird."

" _Impertinent_?" Thorin bristles. "Who was the wolf that would insist on standing on me with his dirty paws just to wake me up? Or go bathing and shake off the water in my face or-"

Dwalin raises his eyebrows.

"And who was the one who would always steal food out of my hands? Or wake me up from a nice afternoon nap by coming up to me and croaking directly into my ear? And remember that time when-"

Thorin and Dwalin look at each other and neither of them knows who does so first but at some point they just break out into laughter like they are over a hundred years younger. Thorin only needs to take another look at Dwalin who is positively hooting to start laughing again. It is one of the things he has missed most during the time of the curse, he realises - simply sharing a meal, talking and laughing together like they had done before Smaug had come.

Another gust of wind flashes by and Thorin almost chokes when the ends of his own hair get tangled in his mouth. Dwalin notices and starts laughing again, although he soon stops and a softer look returns into his eyes.

"Your hair is escaping its braids again." he says and Thorin lifts up a hand to his hair, carefully feeling for the space where his braids should be. Both of them hadn't worn braids for so long that it had been difficult for them to find their way back into it. Fíli had noticed their plight with joy and soon prided himself on being able to teach his uncle something, his small fingers showing Dwalin and Thorin all the braids he was already able to do. They would likely never turn to the overly elaborate braids that were befitting for a member of the royal family and his partner - but Thorin admits that it is nice to be able to wear them again, especially to keep his hair out of the way.

His fingers trace over the strands of hair until they touch a bead at the end of the most intricate of his braids. Its twin sits on a similar braid on the other side of his head and they are the only ones that haven't come undone yet. He smiles when his fingertips graze over them, feels every single finely engraved detail put there by the loving hands that had crafted them, proclaiming that the two of them are One for all the world to see.

They had been the first thing that Dwalin has made after they had regained Erebor, just as Thorin had made him the earring after they had lost their home. Thorin has been wearing them with pride ever since and he smiles again when his fingers touch his new ear cuffs. Dwalin's ears, too are adorned with new ones now, again made by Thorin's hands and he never puts them down, just like Fíli's raven charm which is still dangling around his neck.

It's a marvel that they had even found the time to do smithing work, but somehow they had managed, just like most dwarves who would find at least an hour or two each day to pursue their crafts to keep themselves anchored to reality.

Thorin smiles at Dwalin who is following his fingers with his eyes, his own lips curving up when he sees the courting beads.

"Then maybe you should redo my braids once we're back." Thorin suggests to him and Dwalin nods, a spark lighting up in his eyes. He holds out his arm and Thorin inches a little more closely towards him until he can rest with his back against Dwalin's shoulder, their heads on the same height.

"I probably should." Dwalin smiles as he turns his head so that it is touching the side of Thorin's. He nuzzles his nose in Thorin's hair and presses a soft kiss to his neck. Thorin sighs happily and leans further into his embrace, his fingers intertwining again with Dwalin's own. He still remembers the moment of sundown on the day that they had killed Smaug - despite the knowledge that the curse was broken both of them had still held their breaths, unconsciously expecting their bodies to change at any moment.

That evening they had been left alone after Dís had dragged the others away to grant her brother and his partner some peace. Many parts of the mountain had become uninhabitable under Smaug's reign, with only his soldiers and the prisoners of Erebor left within its walls. A lot of areas situated more deeply inside the mountain had been left empty and it would take careful examination to see which ones were still safe enough to use and which ones would need work to stabilise them again. Therefore, they spent their first night in one of the many soldier's rooms.

The sparse surroundings hadn't mattered a single bit to them. Both of them had been tired, far too tired for many things, so that night they had simple spent as close as possible, limbs tangled and Thorin's chest pressed against Dwalin's back. It had been such a joy for them to re-discover themselves, to touch and feel what they had been deprived off for too long. The simple pleasure of skin on skin had been enough for them already and that night Thorin had slept better than in years.

They have spent the weeks and months afterwards relearning themselves. Not only how to talk to each other, but other things as well - how to fight together in rhythm again, how to live their daily lives free from the shackles of the change, what touch could excite most, which acts could give most pleasure. The most wonderful aspect of it, however, is that they finally have time now to do all those things. They no longer have to plan their lives and activities in rhythm with sunrise and nightfall because where they are when the light changes doesn't matter anymore. Thorin has lost count of how many times they have sat together and watched the sun sink below the horizon, feeling a warmth spreading in their chest every single time that the transformation didn't come over them.

Thorin knows that Dwalin is feeling the same; his fingers are warm in Thorin's hand and Thorin doesn't object when he jostles him around a little and pulls him closer again so that he can rest his head on Thorin's shoulder.

"Your sister will make a great Queen." Dwalin says softly and Thorin smiles.

"Oh yes, that she will." he replies, thinking of her eyes so full of resolution to do the best by her people at the coronation the day before. Her serious demeanour had only been broken when she had glanced over at her sons. Fíli and especially Kíli had both had a hard time of standing still throughout the entire ceremony although Fíli was beaming with pride all the way throughout it.

It had been strange for Thorin to watch the ceremony at first. He wasn't a wholly selfless being, just like any of them and with a sting in his heart he _had_ imagined himself in her place, if only for a moment. However, he knows that it has been the best decision even though it hadn't been an easy one, for neither of them. At some point after the fall of Smaug Thorin had realised that his sister was so used to ruling the daily affairs of their people that it had become an almost natural part of her life. She was already their queen in all but name - and although he, too, was their leader, they would come mostly to her with questions that concerned the practical problems in their daily lives and to him if she was unavailable or they needed a second, more abstract bit of advice.

Thorin had also found that learning to live again was more laborious than he had thought it would be and more than once he was thankful when he could divide responsibilities between himself and his sister. It also gave him more time to spend with Dwalin - time that was sorely needed to make up for the past century spent together and yet always apart. Between Dís and himself and the help of Dwalin and Balin as closest advisors they were able to reign the mountain and bring reparations well on the way before mores folk arrived in the spring afterwards. By then it had been clear to them that Dís would be queen and Thorin her most trusted advisor, almost equal to her in all but name.

The winter had not been easy and Thorin is sure they wouldn't have survived without the help of the inhabitants of Dale and Laketown. Thankfully Smaug had hoarded the riches he had found in the mountain and stolen from the lands beyond rather than spending them and they had used a good portion of it to pay for the food and essential goods so that their people could survive the winter inside the mountain. It had also been enough time for the dwarves to gather enough respect from the men and orcs in both Dale and Laketown that they would accept the return of more of them to Erebor.

They have held both Bilbo and Dís in high regards already since she had been the one to kill Azog and after she has proven herself time and time again on Erebor's throne the people of Dale and Laketown are coming to terms with having a Queen Under the Mountain now and the sight of a hobbit amongst the dwarves. Her hardest task so far has been the meting out of justice amongst those in the prison and those newly captured during the re-taking of the mountain. In many cases it has been hard to untangle personal grievances from overall justice and Thorin has not envied her the task although he had sat in on most of the sessions, offering his advice during their many discussions. Even though it had taken a long time and not everybody was satisfied at the end both he and Dís felt that they had arrived at the solution that was best for most of them and it had been a joy to watch many of the former prisoners and soldiers go home again and reunite with their families.

Thorin has been surprised at how well the former soldiers had integrated with the folk. Many of them had been given the choice to either be released from the service they had been forced into in the first place or serve in the newly appointed city guards that Bard has taken care of organising from the surprisingly large number of volunteers. Not only men but also many orcs had founded families during their time of servitude to Smaug and when he is strolling through the streets of Dale now it is a colourful picture that he sees and that warms his heart.

"With your sister on the throne we will have more freedom to travel now." Dwalin tells him and Thorin smiles.

"Yes, I expect she'll send me as an envoy to a multitude of different places." he agrees, although he knows the smile is leaving his face as he adds: "I'm afraid she will expect us to go into Mirkwood as well though."

"Mirkwood?" Dwalin frowns and Thorin cannot hold it against him. The memory of his own time in Thranduil's dungeon has lost its sting but he will never forget the despair and fear that had eaten deep grooves into his heart and left its scars there until this day.

"Yes. Although I cannot fault her; objectively it would be much better in the long run if there weren't as much enmity between our people." Thorin sighs unhappily. Knowing that something is right and must be done is sometimes completely different from actually having to do it.

"Well, if we'll truly have to go I won't leave your side for a single moment, Thorin. You'll be safe." Dwalin's hand is drawing soft circles on Thorin's back, as if to reassure themselves of their closeness.

"I don't think Thranduil would be able to get away with imprisoning us again." Thorin attempts a slight smile. "Also, remember - the last time you promised never to leave my side we ended up with a curse thrown upon our heads."

Dwalin sighs but there's no pain in his eyes when Thorin turns his head to look at him.

"We were young and foolish then. Also, if I hadn't come with you, I'm not sure you would have made it out alive at all."

Thorin swallows. The next words come difficult to him, but he wants Dwalin to know. His fingers are playing with a bit of cloth from his shirt and he can't force himself to keep them still even when he looks down at them.

"Time over time I thought it would have been the best outcome. Me dead and you alive and _whole_ , able to help our people and families when they would have needed us most."

He can feel Dwalin stiffen slightly when he hears his words. There is silence for a moment before his partner finally replies.

"Don't." Dwalin says quietly. He takes Thorin's hand in his, stopping the fidgeting of his fingers and running his thumb over Thorin's knuckles. "I'd rather spent my lifetime cursed and as a wolf than being whole, as you describe it, and alone. Don't you ever," his hand squeezes Thorin's fingers tightly. " _ever_ think that any of us would have had a better life without you or that it was somehow your fault. Alright?"

He is sitting up and looking straight into Thorin's eyes and Thorin can see how serious he is. Dwalin lets go of Thorin's hand and gently pulls him closer until their foreheads are resting against each other. Thorin closes his eyes, breathing in Dwalin's smell and revelling in his warmth.

"Yes." he finally answers although they both know that it isn't as easy as that. For now, however, Dwalin accepts it.

"Good." Dwalin smiles and cups Thorin's cheek in his hand before kissing him.

Thorin leans in even before Dwalin's lips are meeting his and smiles into their kiss. Every time is still like a revelation and Thorin wonders how he has been able to survive over a hundred years without it. The kiss is sweet and salty, gentle and hungry all at once and he finds himself wishing that it would last forever.

They rub their noses against each other when they finally part again and Dwalin laughs quietly and murmurs something under his breath. Thorin puts a hand around his neck, pulling him closer again.

"What was that?" he asks him.

Dwalin grins, mirth dancing in his grey eyes like sparks against the winter sky.

"...your nose still looks like a beak."

Thorin shakes his head slightly, unable to keep a smile from entering his own face.

"Dwalin?"

"Hm?"

"Shut up."

He pulls him into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I might go back and re-edit this story at one point maybe - it was written in quite a marathon after all. If you have any ideas, suggestions or anything else, tell me! I'd love to know what you think (and yes, sorry, I just couldn't resist the prospect of having a Queen Under the Mountain. And I think Thorin is much happier this way, too). It was also IMMENSELY satisfying to write Dis beat the shit out of Azog and kill him tbh.


End file.
